


Tale of Two Demons

by Blazonix



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: All Route Spoilers, Family Fluff, Genderfluid, Humor, Light Angst, Multi, My Unit | Byleth Twins, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:35:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23941666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blazonix/pseuds/Blazonix
Summary: No matter how many times Byleth goes back, she can't ever save all that she loves. Sothis, tired of the never ending cycle, decides to step in personally by taking a body for herself. Jeralt just wonders how he got stuck with two bizarre kids.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth, Edelgard von Hresvelg/Sothis, My Unit | Byleth & Sothis
Comments: 72
Kudos: 284





	1. Chapter 1

“So here we are once more, back before our fates intertwine, but after time has placed us together,” Sothis says from atop her throne.

Gentle green light surrounds them and Byleth looks down at their hands. No gloves this time, so she must be in the female body. Gender doesn’t mean much to Byleth, but the actions and attitudes of others tend to fluctuate around it.

“How many times are we going to do this?” Byleth wonders, fingers curling in loose fists.

“For as many times as it takes to get it right!” Sothis snaps.

As the Goddess leans forward on her throne with a glare, Byleth has the immediate understanding that the constant repeats of her life are entirely Byleth’s own fault. Lingering regret sends them back again and again to the fated day: when Byleth meets Claude, Dimitri, and Edelgard.

“I don’t think I can get it right. I am getting tired of failing,” Byleth admits quietly.

“Then pick one of them, I care not which, go to war, and be done with this endless cycle. If you are truly resigned, then what more is left to do?” Sothis sits back with narrow eyes.

That would be the simplest thing wouldn’t it? To choose someone to fight for and let it all end. She might even be able to save most of the students from joining the opposing side, saving their life.

The bitter taste of having to lift her sword to anyone makes Byleth want to close her eyes and scream for all eternity.

“Oh? Were you not resigned to killing your students?” Sothis mocks before saying sharply, “Tell me, do you still wish to save the Flame Emperor even as that action severed us in two?”

Bile rises in the back of Byleth’s throat at the memory. In that last life she—no, he had sided with Edelgard out of a desperation to find a new path. Though he had saved Edelgard and Hubert that time around, raising his sword to Seiros, to Sothis’ child, had literally destroyed Sothis’—their—heart.

It is no wonder that the Goddess is ready to smite Byleth into nothingness.

“It is true that I am angry beyond what you can comprehend, but that same anger is one you will feel as well. Your own self-loathing will be punishment enough.” Sothis sighs. “But do not doubt me. I am with you always even now. To harm you would be to harm myself.”

Warmness fills Byleth as Sothis’ presence wraps around her like a hug. Silent apologies and whispered “I missed you” caress their very soul. Though Sothis remains on the throne, if she closes her eyes, Byleth can imagine the Goddess in front of her, holding her like a mother might.

“Now, enough of that,” Sothis says, drawing back from Byleth. “While we could keep traversing ever on, I am in agreement with you. It is time to end this cycle once and for all.”

Sothis grins at her.

“And we will do it by saving every soul.”

There’s a dangerous promise being made, and it sends a shiver down Byleth’s spine. Excitement wars with apprehension, and Byleth doesn't know which one she feels more.

“But not Edelgard,” Byleth says knowingly, certain of the Goddess’ anger.

“You know me well,” Sothis smirks.

Normally, when the dream ends, Byleth awakes to Jeralt telling her it’s time to go and three students in desperate need of help. It always goes the same way: Byleth takes a hit for Edelgard to finalize the connection with Sothis before being forced to Garreg Mach.

As Sothis makes her way down the steps of the throne, slowly and powerfully even with child-like legs, Byleth realizes that this is not what’s going to happen this time around.

“We have traveled the same road over and over again. It is clear that we must go back farther before ever stepping foot on that road,” Sothis says as her toes touch the ground Byleth stands on. “It is time we make a new one, you and I.”

Going back farther in time...can they do that?

“Of course, I am the beginning after all.”

Sothis reaches her hand out, and Byleth takes it. The gentle green glow around them turns harsh and scalding as time screams and twists around them. Byleth grits her teeth and holds on even as Sothis throws back her head and laughs endlessly.

“I will save them,” Byleth swears. “They will live to see the new dawn.”

Claude will get to see his future of acceptance and tolerance. Seteth will continue to look after children who need a guiding hand. Rhea will get the help she needs to let go of the past.

Byleth will even save those who march steadily toward the darkness. Dimitri will not die a beast's death on her watch.

_Those who march to darkness...Edelgard..._

If Sothis hears the final words in Byleth’s oath, she doesn’t comment on it.

* * *

When Byleth awakens, it’s to tiny hands and a tunic she hasn’t been able to fit in for dozens of lifetimes. She’s curled up in a worn blanket that smells like the dampness of a rainforest, and there’s an insect screen over the flap of the tent.

“Sothis?” Byleth whispers.

“ _I am here_ ,” Sothis answers back with a faint voice.

Though the connection between them feels weak, relief washes over Byleth. She was worried, but it seems the Goddess is with her as always.

“ _No, you fool_ ,” Sothis snaps out. “ _I am truly here! My skin touches stone, and my lungs breathe air. Byleth, come and get me! It’s stuffy in here._ ”

Byleth blinks and then blinks again. Springing out of the blankets, she hastens to get her tiny boots on. Strapping on the tiny blade that serves as her sword, she rushes out of the tent and towards the presence that lies somewhere beyond her.

“Whoa, kiddo, just where do you think you’re going?”

Strong arms lift her up by the armpits and her legs run on air before dangling helplessly. Mercenaries whose faces and names she can never recall swivel around to look at her with eyebrows raised. She looks back at them until they glance away, unsettled by her blank face.

Upon being set down, Byleth turns to see the concerned face of her unaging father. She has to crane her neck to look up at him. He is much taller than she recalls him ever being.

“So what’s going on?” Jeralt asks, leaning down ever so slightly.

Trying not to pout, Byleth ponders on what to say. Sothis needs her, but those words alone are not something her father would believe. There’s no time to explain the full of it, and Jeralt would tie her to a tree before letting her go off alone for no reason.

She decides on a half-truth.

“There is a voice crying out for help,” Byleth says. “I have to go to them.”

A hush falls over the camp, and the noise of the rainforest falls silent. Jeralt never takes his eyes off of Byleth even as the other mercenaries look around with hands on their weapons.

“You had a dream,” Jeralt says with an even tone. “You just woke up. Haven’t even brushed your hair, kid. It’s a mess.”

As much as her father wants the strange voice to have been a dream, there’s a truth to Byleth’s words that even the trees can hear. She’s sorry that it unnerves him, but her other self is calling her. Loudly.

“ _Byleth, hurry up! These creatures will not leave me be!_ ” Sothis complains.

Putting the weight of the world in her eyes, in her voice, in her body, Byleth says,

“I have to go, or I will die.”

Because if anything happens to Sothis, Byleth will take a knife to her own throat and begin anew. Life, death, and time itself is meaningless to gods.

Paling, Jeralt is only silent for a moment before he orders his men to get on their feet. Half of them jump up with their weapons drawn, and the other half scurry around to begin slinging packs around haphazardly.

“Which way, Byleth?” Jeralt asks, kneeling next to her.

She closes her eyes and reaches for the connection to her heart while a calloused hand strokes her messy, long hair. There’s a shine of a star in the distance, and she can feel Sothis’ irritation burning everything around her.

“That way,” Byleth points.

“Alright,” Jeralt says before getting up and heading to the horses.

With Byleth wrapped in Jeralt’s arms and pointing the entire way, the mercenary band leaves the rainforest to pursue something only Byleth can hear. Even though they march for a solid day, no one says anything about it beyond the normal amount of grumbling.

The faith these men have in Jeralt reminds Byleth of a war that hasn’t happened yet. One that Jeralt never got to see begin or end. Her fingers dig into Jeralt’s arms, and she swears she will make sure her father lives this time.

Jeralt pets her head and startles when she leans into it. Growing up, Byleth hadn’t been the most receptive to her father’s affection. She didn’t have the heart for it, but it’s different this time.

“We’ll make it in time,” Jeralt tells her, unsure of what exactly lies at the end of their mad dash.

They reach Sothis by early morning. The Goddess complains the entire time but tempers her words any time Byleth starts to fret for real.

“There,” Byleth points as the horse beneath her jolts back in fright.

“Are you kidding me? That place?” Jeralt swears before getting the horse under control.

Before them is an old ruin, one that looks like an ancient palace made of stone with carvings lost by time long past. In the center of the palace is a small building built atop of a long staircase. It stands above the entire structure as if housing a god.

Byleth knows without a doubt that is where Sothis is.

The trouble, however, is that there are numerous warning signs posted around the ruin for a reason. The palace has a large stone wall around it, and beasts and deadly traps wait for anyone venturing inside.

“I must go to them,” Byleth says solemnly.

Jeralt rubs his face with a sigh.

“We’ll have to take this slowly and carefully,” he mutters.

Even though her heart calls to her, even though she wants nothing more than to fling herself at the ruin and up the stairs, Byleth stays close to her father and obeys every word from his mouth.

Running in while exhausted and at night is foolish, so she sleeps as the scouts leave to observe what they can. When the mercenaries sharpen their swords and ready themselves, Byleth stares at the palace and talks to Sothis.

“ _I am fine_ ,” Sothis reassures her with exasperation. “ _I want for nothing. The creatures bring me water and food. It is getting used to this body’s functions that is truly trying, and I suspect not even Jeralt will be able to help with that_.”

The beasts that roam the ruin grounds are strange ones; their faces are made of stone that match the environment around them. Their bodies twist between animalistic and humanlike, and their cries aren’t ones she’s heard before. Perhaps they are guards from a people long gone like the ones Rhea made.

Had Byleth returned to her usual self, she would be able to take her sword and help her father clear the ruin. She is, unfortunately, a small child and stays behind with the backup mercenaries. She’s glad she didn’t try to run in after her father when someone comes back injured and grumbling about the beasts knowing how to trigger traps.

The sun begins to set by the time Jeralt proclaims the ruin to be secured. Thanks to his meticulously, almost ridiculously, detailed plans, no one is seriously injured or dead. Byleth helps slap a vulnerary onto someone’s back before making a run for it.

“Kid, wait a second!” Jeralt chases after her.

She takes the steps as fast as she can, and Jeralt is right behind her. At the top of the staircase is a large stone door with a carving of the sun cradling the moon. Byleth bangs her fist on it as hard as she can, and it slides down slowly, sinking into the stone beneath.

The sound of a weapon being drawn behind her is inconsequential; she runs forward into the darkness.

“Byleth!”

Ignoring her father’s calls, she follows a line of lit torches to the steps of a throne. It’s not like the one under Garreg Mach; the steps are small and low to the ground, and there’s a feather fan lying on top of the throne.

None of that matters. Sitting there on the throne wearing a white dress and without shoes...is Byleth.

“What?” Jeralt chokes behind her.

The other Byleth looks at them through lidded eyes while leaning their face against a fist as if bored. The torches burning around them give off an eerie glow. A bowl of fruit sits on one throne arm while a bowl of water rests on the other.

A movement from the ceiling catches Byleth’s attention. A furry tail waves at her before it disappears.

“ _Monkeys_ ,” Sothis tells her silently. “ _They are persistent creatures, but thanks to them I have had sustenance all the while I waited for you_.”

Out loud, Sothis says,

“The time for sleep has ended. Today marks the beginning of a new path, one of peace and hope. Only when we have the resolve to grasp that future can it open to us. Come to me, my other self.”

Byleth dodges Jeralt’s desperate grab and sprints to Sothis, who holds out a hand. Stopping short, Byleth reaches out to that hand as if hesitant to touch. Identical blue eyes stare into hers.

“It’s alright,” Sothis whispers.

Moving forward, their fingertips touch first before their palms connect. Warmth radiates from the flesh beneath her hand, and Byleth marvels at it. This has never happened before. In every life, Sothis stayed within her only to disappear soon after awakening.

“You’re here,” Byleth says with wonder.

“Yes.” Sothis smiles.

_We will never part._

“Byleth!” Jeralt cries.

The amount of alarm in her father’s voice causes a wave of guilt to hit Byleth. Not enough to make her let go of the warm hand attached to hers, but it does cause her to give a pleading face to Sothis. She has no idea how to explain this.

“Child,” Sothis mutters at her before straightening. “Jeralt Eisner, have no fear. I am not going to take your child from you, or do anything that has not already been done. I was born alongside Byleth, and so too, do I love them.”

Sothis’s hand remains on hers, and Byleth smiles so hard it hurts. Behind her, Jeralt rubs his forehead and sighs. The axe in his hand stays where it is.

“I don’t understand,” Jeralt says with frustration.

“This body was created by Rhea, but it only came alive when Byleth was born. Our heart is shared between us, and though it doesn’t beat, it connects us,” Sothis explains.

“Of course it’s that damn Rhea,” Jeralt gnashes his teeth.

“Rhea thought me defective, and left me on the throne in the hopes it would do something. I haven’t moved until now when Byleth neared me.”

Sothis, with a tilting head, gives Jeralt an innocent, wide-eyed look.

“ _What I say is truth, and we will discuss that another time, but I never said which throne Rhea placed me on_ ,” Sothis tells her.

Byleth threads her fingers through Sothis’ and turns to give her father the biggest pleading eyes she’s capable of making. Jeralt looks from Byleth to Sothis before holding a hand over his eyes as if in the middle of a hangover.

“You talk like a stuffy adult. What’s your name, kid?” Jeralt asks with resignation.

“ _Looks like he’s given into us! Your father truly is soft when it comes to these eyes, it seems_ ,” Sothis laughs softly over their connection. “ _Well, go on. What is my name? I leave that to you_.”

Byleth thinks it over carefully. Sothis is out due to obvious reasons, so she tries to go down the list of aliases her father had her use in her previous life. She can only remember one of them.

“This is Balan,” Byleth says.

“ _It has a charming ring to it_ ,” Sothis says, seemingly pleased by the name.

“Ah, I get it,” Jeralt looks from Byleth to the newly-named Balan, “even though your mouths aren’t moving, you two are talking to each other.”

Byleth and Balan blink at each other before giving Jeralt the same confused face which startles him into a laugh.

“How else could Byleth hear you?” Jeralt finally puts away his axe. “Let’s hurry up and get back to camp. I’m starving.”

Balan squeaks angrily when Jeralt picks them both up without warning. It’s uncomfortable, but Byleth couldn’t be happier to be held to Jeralt’s hard chestplate while squashed against Balan.

“Byleth should have some spare shoes you can wear. They were coming apart at the heel, but it’ll have to do until we stop somewhere,” Jeralt says, taking it slow and careful down the staircase.

Night has fallen, and he doesn’t want to risk falling off.

Jeralt’s men are waiting for them with bated breath. Arguments about going in after them can be heard once they get close enough to camp, but when Jeralt enters with a Byleth in each hand, the only thing that can be heard is the dropping of equipment.

“What the hell,” is all anyone says for a long time.

Jeralt sets Byleth and Balan down on a blanket by the fire and leaves them to go to his tent. Byleth keeps her hand around Balan, and the two of them stare at the mercenaries wordlessly.

“Oh my Goddess, there’s two of them,” one of the men says with dawning horror.

“Yeah, there’s two.” Jeralt re-emerges from the tent with shoes and a bundle of clothes. “This is Balan. Looks like I have another kid now.”

“ _I am hardly a child_ ,” Balan grumbles to Byleth silently before reaching up to take the shoes that Jeralt offers.

When Balan is unable to properly get the shoes on, Jeralt kneels down to help without a word. Though his face doesn’t so much as twitch, the trembling of Jeralt’s shoulders give away his true feelings as Balan works up a whispered rant about the absurdity of footwear.

“ _As if I had to deal with such things as shoes!_ ” Balan says defensively.

“Sir, sorry, but what. The hell,” a mercenary asks.

“The story is that I have twins, and I’ve always had twins,” Jeralt eventually says, standing up and throwing the bundle of clothes on top of Balan’s head. “The real story’s more complicated than that, but all you need to know is that Balan is here to stay.”

“ _I am sure he suspects more than what I have said, but Jeralt doesn’t appear to be heartless enough to get rid of what he thinks is a child_ ,” Balan comments. “ _If he throws anything more at me, I shall have to throw back however_.”

Byleth had always loved Jeralt, but it’d been muted during her childhood. His death came just as her emotions finally emerged properly. As she looks up at her father, Byleth now realizes that this is a chance to do it all over again. To love this amazing man.

She will save them all, she thinks.

“Amazing, our fierce leader has us do battle against creatures of legend for an entire day, and our only reward is that he gets another daughter!” A mercenary throws his hands up in disbelief.

“Son,” Balan corrects.

Byleth blinks. She knew Sothis had complained about having trouble with aiming while relieving herself, but she didn’t think that would be enough to change the Goddess’ own label.

“But you’re so pretty!” Someone says.

“As I appear identical to Byleth, that means you think she, too, is ‘so pretty,’ ” Balan looks up at Jeralt through lidded eyes. “I would watch that one closely, ‘Father.’ ”

“ _This body was intended to be male, and I am too drained to change this_ ,” Balan tells Byleth. “ _As you_ _have_ _always change_ _d_ _your gender by your_ _body, I, too, shall give it a try. I can always change later if it becomes too strange._ ”

Jeralt groans as the camp breaks out into loud laughter, and Balan leans back with contentment. This, Byleth knows, is only the beginning. It won’t be long before they all learn just how different Balan is from Byleth.

She can’t wait to see other people getting scolded for once though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going to lie, endgame pairings are Dimileth and...Sothis/Edelgard (for the irony and because it'd be hilarious). ~~But as I might change my mind, I won't tag it just yet.~~
> 
> Poor Claude, so alone.


	2. Chapter 2

While Sothis may have seen life through Byleth’s eyes, it turns out there’s a difference in experiencing it firsthand. For instance, sitting correctly in a horse saddle isn’t difficult in theory, but in reality—

“Kid, you’re going to fall off.”

“I assure you, I am in no danger.” Balan dismisses Jeralt’s warnings.

Byleth can only stare as the enormous horse shifts nervously under the tiny, squirming Balan. His feet can’t reach the stirrups of the saddle which means Balan is only hanging on by what his small hands can grab. Whenever he moves too far left or right, he comes close to slipping off.

“The horse might be in danger at this rate,” Jeralt says flatly.

More than a few mercenaries watch the show while snickering. Jeralt, looking ready to give up entirely, keeps one hand on the horse and one close to Balan to catch him.

“ _Byleth, how does one do this without hurting their genitals_?” Balan finally asks after a near miss causes Jeralt to lunge for him instinctively.

“ _Ask our father_ ,” Byleth answers back silently before walking away.

Balan’s knowledge of but inability to do simple actions reinforces the story of a comatose child that has only heard of the world through Byleth. Jeralt becomes much softer after showing Balan how to properly look after himself as do the other mercenaries.

It would be a perfect cover, Byleth thinks, if only Balan didn’t have Sothis’ high and mighty attitude.

There’s no way to hide the fact that Balan’s speech and attitude are far too advanced, and Byleth nearly gives up on the whole charade when Balan begins cooing over a plant while explaining its medicinal properties.

“Eating the leaves is toxic, but if combined with a certain mineral—I cannot recall the name as of now—it makes for a medicine that soothes pain on the skin,” Balan says, trailing a finger gently over the rough-edged leaves.

“Is that right,” Jeralt says noncommittal.

For whatever reason, even after weeks of this, Jeralt still treats Balan like a child, if but a strange one.

“ _No doubt he thinks my level of intellect is part of Seiros’ experiment_.” Balan explains. “ _You remember that she created bodies in the hope to give myself form, yes? And that your mother was one of them while you yourself are not?_ ”

Byleth nods from where she rides at the front of the caravan with Jeralt. Balan is behind them and rides with another mercenary. She had forgotten how boring the constant travel had been, but their silent conversations make the endless riding bearable.

“ _This body was created alongside your mother’s. It lacked a soul, but it was perfect otherwise. Seiros placed it upon the throne once she noticed it growing after you were born_.”

If she closes her eyes, Byleth can almost see the hopeful, deranged way Rhea stared at the unmoving child on the throne. Perhaps the Crest of Flames didn’t disappear into the fire after all, Rhea would think. Perhaps her mother would still come to her.

It’s as tragic as it is chilling. Byleth rather hopes Sothis will clear things up with Rhea early this time around. Perhaps while Byleth is enjoying an afternoon fishing with her father, discussing crests with Hanneman, or at the training ground putting her sword through Jeritza’s head.

Basically, when Byleth is not anywhere near Rhea.

“ _Do not worry yourself. I will set her straight even if I must beat her around the head! I did not die so that my name could be spoken simultaneously with war,”_ Balan reassures her _._

“ _Though I still find it strange that Seiros would create a male body. Perhaps she thought I would be tempted by experiencing something new_.” Balan lets out a silent laugh. “ _That child knows me well_.”

As Jeralt’s mercenaries travel around Fodlan in search of work while evading the church’s gaze, one thing becomes clear: Balan is expected to learn the family trade. An uneasy feeling hits Byleth as her other self is handed a wooden sword and, at his request, a beginner’s spell book.

“Having second thoughts?” Balan asks her without faltering from his kata.

“It doesn’t seem right,” Byleth says.

Byleth was born to be a killer, a tool of war. It’s all she knows at this point. Sothis, on the other hand, is different. To put a sword in the Goddess’ hands feels blasphemous in a way.

Balan sighs in exasperation.

“ _Do not be concerned about me. Though I detest war, who do you think it was that taught my children to wield a blade? Did you think I protected Fodlan by talking the enemy to death? Hm?”_

There’s nothing Byleth can say to that. Though the legends paint Sothis as a benevolent and gentle god—to which she mostly is—there’s a wildness to her that can’t be described. Byleth doesn’t doubt that Sothis used to rip people in half with her bare hands.

“ _Yes, I did do that. With claws mind you, I did not always have a human form. Sadly, my children were not capable of such, but I do recall teaching Seiros to use her fists when disarmed. Perhaps it would be beneficial for us to learn the same,_ ” Balan says.

Jeralt is unsurprised when Byleth asks for more training one night around the fire. He simply reaches into a sack next to him and pulls out a spell book for her to take. Flipping it open, Byleth sees a basic guide to white magic instead of the black magic Balan studies.

She looks up at her father wordlessly.

“You want to learn what he doesn’t, right?” Jeralt nods to Balan who struggles to keep his eyes open. “Earlier, he asked about axes, and you asked about lances.”

“We both need to learn the bow,” Balan murmurs, resting his head on Byleth’s shoulder, “and to punch people in the face.”

Jeralt never pushed Byleth to learn more than she was comfortable with. As long as she could ride a horse, swing a sword, and dodge an arrow, she was good, Jeralt would say. Considering she never really had a close call beyond the fated day, there must be something to that.

However, with Balan training hard every day to regain lost strength, to change the future before them, there’s no way Byleth can sit back and watch. To stay comfortable.

“I have things to protect,” she says with determination, “and I need to grow stronger.”

A large hand tousles her hair, and she pouts. Jeralt smirks down at her with a glow in his eyes.

“You’re getting stronger already, kid. Now off to bed, you two.”

Her father picks them both up and carries them to their tent. Byleth obediently changes into her nightgown, but Balan holds his arms up with expectation.

“One day, I’m not going to be your personal manservant,” Jeralt gripes before leaning down to change Balan’s clothes anyway.

Byleth is already done wiping her teeth with a paste-filled cloth by the time Balan is dressed into his own nightgown. She gives Balan an unimpressed look as he opens his mouth, and Jeralt practically shoves the paste in.

“ _You’re shameless_ ,” Byleth tells him.

Her father tucks them in before going back to the fire. Byleth clutches the spell book to her chest as Balan snuggles into the bedding next to her. Outside, the sounds of bottles being opened and whoops of joy drift through the tent’s thin walls.

It is not the familiar noise of mercenaries with too much time and drink on their hands that keeps Byleth’s eyes wide open.

“I can stop the Tragedy of Duscur,” Byleth whispers.

She has never said those words before even as they’ve rattled desperately inside her head. Byleth clutches the spell book so hard that it hurts. So many times she chased after that man, flinging healing spells at his back until he’d stop bleeding.

She can still see herself reaching for the back of that cape sometimes.

“Very well. How?” Balan doesn’t move.

Her mouth opens and closes. Byelth finds herself unable to answer.

“You do not know your current age, what the year is, or even the date the tragedy took place. How can you stop it?”

Byleth scrapes her memory for every shard of useful knowledge she has and finds nothing. Surely with the strength of a Goddess on her side—

“ _I used the last of my strength to warp to one of my forgotten temples after awakening. It will be quite some years before I can level an underground city with a flick of my hand._ ”

Blinking back tears of frustration, Byleth flings the spell book away from her. Balan grabs her hand before she can do anything else and pulls her close.

“We still have time on our side, and even if that fate is unkind enough to pass before us, we will still save him and the others of your pride,” Balan whispers in her ear. “ _Sleep, little one. We must rest and grow stronger still_.”

Even though she knows Balan is right, the stirring of past memories cause an anguish that keeps her from closing her eyes. A night of bitter rain and a lost soul desperately asking her what he should do. Of Hilda crying her eyes out over a tragic death that could have been prevented.

A warm hand holds hers tightly, and it is Sothis who sings to her.

“ _In time’s flow...see the glow of flames ever burning bright_... _on the swift river’s drift, broken memories alight_...”

* * *

Neither Balan nor Byleth are strong enough to risk trying a Divine Pulse in those first few years. Their shared heart means that both of them should be capable of turning back the hands of time, but the risks are too high to attempt it.

The first time Byleth has to use a Divine Pulse is because Balan decides to cut off a man’s head for no reason.

“It is not ‘for no reason,’ ” Balan snarls as time flows backwards around them. “A beheading is too good for a lowly creature such as him!”

Byleth gets a good look at the man dressed in finery; he sneers down at a food stall with a tiny girl by his side. She now understands the cause of Balan’s rage. She remembers killing that man in most of her lives.

“Forced to buy our own food like a worthless commoner,” Volkhard von Arundel hisses.

“Uncle, please,” the tiny, brown-haired girl by his side pleads.

Byleth grabs Balan’s hand before it can go back to the hilt of his sword. While she is admittedly fighting the urge to grab her own sword, killing Arundel here would only worsen things.

“ _We’ll cause those who slither in the dark to change their plans drastically_ ,” Byleth tells Balan.

“ _What does it matter? Let us rid the world of both of them here and now and alter the fate of the future forever! We will hunt the rest of them down eventually,_ ” he utters darkly.

That is true, but Balan is forgetting one important fact.

“We are currently in the middle of the marketplace, dear brother,” she says flatly. “A very busy marketplace with lots of guards.”

Balan scowls at her even though Byleth is right. After a long staring contest, Balan yanks his hand back to cross his arms and look away. Even though they are no longer small children, neither are they on the cusp of adulthood. Balan looks like a child who’s been robbed of their sweets.

“There you two are. Thought you could run away, huh?” Their father approaches with a smirk and an armful of purchases.

Jeralt, long used to Balan’s seemingly random temper tantrums, deposits a sack of groceries in his arms before ruffling his hair. A bolt of cloth makes its way into Byleth’s hands, and there's a quick pet of her hair before Jeralt dives back into the busy crowd around them.

“Let us go back to the inn. Those two had better pray to a different god that they do not cross paths with us when alone,” Balan sniffs.

Even though the threat sounds like a baseless one any child might utter, Byleth knows that Balan is good to his word. Should Arundel and his niece meet them in a dark alleyway, their lives are forfeit.

It is almost a relief that no such situation arises by the time their group gears up to make their way out of the city. Byleth, unable to pray to any divinity but the one next to her, decides to thank the stars above her for preventing a murder.

The stars decide to spit on her.

“So you are the mercenaries that the guards recommended,” Arundel says with a sneer on his lips.

While Jeralt doesn’t blink at the man approaching their caravan with obvious contempt, his mercenaries tense up with narrow eyes. Next to Arundel, the brown-haired girl attempts to hide the concern written on her face with the sleeve of her overcoat.

Byleth keeps her arm wrapped around Balan whose blank face is in danger of crumbling. Their packs lie on the ground by their feet, and Byleth silently curses the fact she hadn’t been quicker in loading them on the horse.

“I don’t know what they told you, but we don’t have time for a job. We’re headed to Fhirdiad without stopping,” Jeralt says evenly.

The darkness of early morning makes it hard to see, but not even Byleth misses the way Arundel bares his teeth in a mockery of a smile.

“How fortunate. We are going that way as well. It is just the two of us, and I am afraid I am ill-prepared to defend my niece as it is,” Arundel says.

“ _What a piece of shit_ ,” Byleth tells Balan. “ _That man can sling around dark magic with the best of them._ ”

“ _You do not tell me anything new, Byleth_ ,” Balan says. “ _Come, let go of me, and I will sever his neck from his body!_ ”

Unfortunately for Balan, Byleth has a fear of murdering people in front of her father. Sure Jeralt might cover for her, but then he’d probably make her regret it for the rest of her life.

Byleth keeps her arm locked around Balan’s even as he silently rages inside their heads.

“I’d find someone else, if I were you. We’re not cheap. You’ll slow us down, and it's our own necks on the line to defend yours. It’s going to cost you,” Jeralt says.

“Oh, but of course I wouldn’t dream of asking such a thing without payment. Surely we can work something out? I just want my niece to be as safe as possible.”

With the way he looks at the girl by Arundel’s side with softening eyes, Byleth knows that hoping for Jeralt to reject the proposal is a lost cause. Balan knows this too by the way his eyes lower and their connection goes silent.

“ _Stop fretting,_ ” Balan says as Jeralt and Arundel begin negotiating a price. “ _Though you may not think it so, I am not some child who stomps their feet while screaming. I will kill that man whose twisted desires caused the path of war, but I will not do so until the opportunity arises._ ”

“ _And her?_ ” Byleth asks, eyes never moving from the girl who stares back unflinchingly. “ _She’s innocent._ ”

Despite appearing meek, the girl keeps her head up and shoulders back. Brown eyes stay locked on hers even as Byleth sees purple. Balan glares at the girl from beneath his eyelashes.

“ _You are correct. She is nothing but a child as of this moment. I will not hold my blade to her neck just yet._ ”

Jeralt motions to everyone to continue loading the horses, and Byleth lets go of Balan. Even though they have two new clients to take care of, they will be sticking to the plan of leaving before sunrise and traveling the rest of the day.

_But in time, I will kill the Flame Emperor and revel in her blood._

Alarmingly enough, Byleth doesn't know which of them the thoughts belong to.

* * *

As they head deeper into the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, Arundel attempts to keep Edelgard by his side the entire time and away from “rough influences,” but Jeralt—with a silver tongue or blood magic, Byleth doesn’t know which—puts a stop to that fairly quick.

During their frequent stops to rest, Edelgard is practically thrown at Jeralt’s own kids while Arundel is surrounded by mercenaries who make it a game to get Arundel to make a fool of himself without realizing it.

“So the people in the Holy Kingdom love cheese?” Someone asks.

“What?” Arundel snaps. “When did I ever say such?”

“But you said they curdle milk with their stench, right? If that always happens, then they can eat all the cheese they want!” Laughter rings out as Arundel’s face perfectly conveys the expression of one surrounded by idiots.

Edelgard watches it all from beside Byleth and Balan with an unimpressed look on her face. It’s similar to the one Arundel wears.

“I know the jest is that it’s obviously a jest, but this is just asinine,” Edelgard says.

“Who is the bigger fool? The one who cannot tell that they are being laughed at, or the ones who continue to laugh at something that never changes?” Balan wonders.

Byleth stuffs her face with a snack as she watches what she views as two very different pieces of entertainment.

It’s hilarious that Balan gets along so well with Edelgard. When the two aren’t bickering, they have the time of their lives critiquing the world around them like it’s a badly done play. They go right back to arguing afterwards, but she believes they enjoy doing so when it’s not about anything serious.

When it is serious, Byleth tends to run interference so the adults don’t hear exactly what Balan and Edelgard are arguing about.

“The Goddess is responsible for the kingdoms and the nobility,” Edelgard insists.

“Humans are the ones who set that up, you stupid girl!” Balan snarls back.

“The Goddess gifted everyone their crests, or there wouldn’t be so many churches saying it!”

“Humans rid the world of the Goddess so that they could start their crest obsession! It is humans who continue to reach for power through any means necessary even if they must continually sacrifice their gods to do so!”

Byleth knows better than to stick her hand in that mess. She only butts in when they get too loud or to remind Balan that he is arguing with a child who still believes unwaveringly in the lies told by sermons and books.

It’d be wonderful if Balan’s words could tear the veil from Edelgard’s eyes and show her where her hatred should lie, but Edelgard is a stubborn child. Balan’s angry attempts to correct her are like slamming one’s head against a brick wall.

“ _I am growing weary of this,_ ” Balan says. “ _Seiros will put a stop to this misinformation, or I will burn every text that sings the praises of my children’s murders._ ”

“ _All of Fodlan will try to kill you as an enemy of their Goddess._ ” Byleth can’t help but find the idea amusing.

The longer Byleth gets to know this Edelgard, the more she wants to save her. If only Byleth knew how. Some part of her is resigned to killing Edelgard in the years to come; some part of her cries for vengeance, and another cries for a dear friend that took breaking her heart to save.

Byleth wants to save them all, but is it possible when she feels so conflicted about it?

“Stop thinking unnecessary things,” Balan mutters, slapping her upside the head.

“Don’t hit your sister!” Edelgard snaps out.

“Do not tell me what I cannot do!”

“Forgive me, I didn’t know I was speaking to his imperial highness!”

“There they go again.” Jeralt rubs his eyes with a sigh. “She looked so sweet when we first met, but look at her now. Screaming and trying to strangle your brother to death. Of course Balan attached himself to someone just like him.”

When Jeralt starts calling Edelgard “Balan’s new little friend,” neither Balan nor Edelgard are pleased by the title. The look of pure disgust on their faces is one she’ll always treasure. If only she was good at painting, she’d take it with her wherever she goes.

Arundel’s look of disgust is one that makes her want to reach for her blade however.

“ _No matter how hard I try, I cannot get Arundel by himself. It would only take but a moment for him to disappear_ ,” Balan tells her one night as they lie beside each other.

“ _Everyone’s trying to keep him away from you and Edelgard,_ ” she says, biting back a laugh, “ _so I doubt you’ll get a chance_.”

“ _I suppose a client disappearing on his watch would be terrible for Jeralt’s reputation as well,_ ” Balan grumbles before rolling over pointedly at her silent giggles.

The distance to Fhirdiad feels extremely long yet terribly short. Byleth doesn’t say much to Edelgard, too afraid of what might happen, but there’s a sudden feeling of loss when it comes time to part with the girl.

“We made it,” Jeralt says as Byleth pulls her horse up to his.

The two of them look at the stone walls of a city that surrounds a magnificent castle while they wait for the rest of the caravan to catch up.

“ _Destiny has brought us here,_ ” Balan says from somewhere behind her. “ _To them. When we leave the city, it will be with blood trailing after us. Are you prepared?_ ”

“Yes,” Byleth says aloud.

_Let that future of darkness never come to pass._


	3. Chapter 3

Byleth has never been to Fhirdiad. Byleth once called the city home. The air is crisp and cold, but if she concentrates she can taste the sunlight of breezy summers. There is no evidence of a battle having taken place anywhere in the city, but she continues to look for signs of damage anyway.

“ _Archbishop, the king has been waiting for you!”_

“ _Archbishop, Archbishop, come see what we’ve done with the old bakery!”_

“ _Beloved, there you are. Wait, why are you covered in flour?”_

Byleth has tread many paths, many lives, but she doesn’t know why certain memories shine so bright. She’s been married dozens of times to various people, yet it’s only this recollection that makes her legs weak.

Perhaps Sothis messed something up when gathering up their memories.

She remembers flying over Almyra with Claude, dancing in an empty ballroom with Edelgard, quietly gardening with Rhea, and reading stories to children with Seteth.

She remembers each of her students growing up and taking Byleth’s hand with love in their eyes, remembers others giving Byleth their strength as comrades before turning into lovers.

She even recalls stepping into an abyss and becoming enchanted with the ones living there.

Those precious memories live within her, but they are faint as if they were nothing more than a dream she once had. None of them affect her like this; none of them cause a deep longing like when she thinks of Dimitri.

She needs to move on.

The Dimitri of this time is a child who hasn’t seen darkness, and if she has her way, never will. Byleth will leave a trail of bodies that will keep that child in the light and away from her. She can never have what once was.

“Kid, you okay?” Jeralt’s voice jars Byleth out of her daze.

She nods, but when her father continues to look down at her with a concerned gaze, she reaches up to twist her fingers into his tunic. The images of a different time fade away as she concentrates on the texture of the material.

Her father is still here, and she has no regrets about that. A new life, but a new chance, Byleth reminds herself.

With furrowed brows, Jeralt untangles her fingers from his tunic but keeps a grip on her hand. The warmth from his calloused palm is far better than the rough cloth of his tunic. She moves her fingers until they’re in a better position.

Her father continues to give her a concerned look, but with Byleth seemingly content to just stand there holding hands, Jeralt gives up and asks,

“Have you seen your brother anywhere?”

“He’s,” Byleth pauses before tilting her head with a smirk, “looking for his crush.”

* * *

“ _You take that right back, Byleth! I am doing no such_ ,” Balan seethes.

Pushing through the crowd with his shoulders, Balan struggles to keep just the right distance from his target. Expensive robes go around a corner, and he weaves through the people to follow suit.

While he had an easy time giving the mercenaries the slip at the horse stables, following someone who can practically see through the back of their head is proving to be a difficult task.

Arundel, with Edelgard by his side, takes the most inconvenient, twisting paths to throw off any potential pursuers, and he goes from empty streets to filled ones seemingly at random. Balan is forced to adapt constantly.

Stealth doesn’t come naturally to either Balan or Byleth, but old lessons from Shamir prove to be incredibly useful now. Use the crowd to your advantage and hide, Shamir had said, blend in like you belong.

But those very same crowds don’t move easily for a child who’s in a hurry.

Honestly, this would be so much easier if he could just scale the walls and leap from rooftop to rooftop. If he used a Divine Pulse—no, they may need those later.

Balan lets out an aggravated sigh and continues the hunt until his prey stops before an inn. Pulling his cloak tighter around him, Balan watches through lidded eyes as Arundel and Edelgard enter. He waits until it becomes clear that they won’t be leaving any time soon.

Knowing where the enemy sleeps is the first step in war.

Turning on his heel, Balan walks the streets at a more sedate pace. He’s in no hurry to get back to his other self; though their connection remains silent, he’s sure Byleth has everything under control.

Instead, he takes his time studying the territory around him. Any place to hide, movement in the guards, or possible obstacles is noted and memorized. There is no warmth in Balan’s gaze as he looks around the stone city.

Perhaps Byleth would better at this with her brighter memories of the city, but—

The moment the Kingdom’s capital came into sight, Byleth and Balan had seen it differently. For Byleth, Fhirdiad is a home to protect. For Balan, Fhirdiad is a stronghold to seize.

Balan will do what needs to be done to stop the cycle of regret, but he will not do so at the cost of his heart. There is no need to have Byleth view the city as an enemy when Balan can do it for her.

“Dimitri! Where are you?”

With his focus on the roofs above him, Balan doesn’t see the child running headfirst into him until they both go down. Pain shoots through him from a skull smashing against his, and the bitter cold of the street seeps through the back of his cloak.

“Oh man, I’m sorry!” The child who ran into him scrambles to get up.

Flat on his back, Balan stares up at familiar messy, red hair. The child immediately grabs his arm to help him up. Balan allows it, but soon regrets doing so as brown eyes come far too close to his.

Cold air infiltrates through the accidental opening of his cloak, and an uncomfortable feeling of exposure hits Balan as the child looks him up and down slowly. Balan’s outfit is slim and close-fitting compared to the child’s fur-trimmed coat and thick pants.

“I am so sorry, miss! I didn’t know you were a lady. How can I make it up to you?” The child winks at him.

A firm grip remains on his arm, and Balan considers the fool before him. It’s with fondness that he pulls back his fist and punches Sylvain in the stomach with all his might.

* * *

There’s a wail in the air, and silent, maniacal laughter in her head. Byleth knows immediately who’s at fault.

“ _What was that?_ ” Byleth narrows her eyes.

“ _Nothing you need concern yourself with. Concentrate on gathering the necessary materials,_ ” Balan replies back with a hint of triumph in his voice.

As much as she wants to know what Balan has done now, Byleth is in the middle of buying weapons and cannot afford the distraction. In Fhirdiad, weapons are serious business, and Byleth has to throw down more often than not to get the good stuff.

“I can get more for these knives than what you’re offering for these pair of knuckles,” the merchant scoffs while waving a knife between each finger at her.

The knuckles are the only thing of decent quality on this market stall. Those knives wouldn’t hold up against a fish. She opens her mouth to say so, but a high-pitched voice beats her to it.

“You should be ashamed of yourself! I sincerely doubt any of your wares will last even one day. Who is responsible for letting you sell here?”

“And just who—” The merchant snaps before paling drastically.

A girl with short blonde hair marches up beside Byleth, puts her hands on her hips, and glares. Byleth, not one to let the opportunity pass, crosses her arms and stares at the merchant.

“How about I sell you these half-off and close down for the day? I’ll go clean up my inventory right after!” The merchant laughs nervously.

“Three quarters off,” Byleth says without missing a beat.

“Why you little!” The merchant bites his tongue as the girl clears her throat. “It’s, it’s a deal.”

Immensely pleased with herself, Byleth puts the box containing her new knuckles in the crook of her arm. Once the merchant starts the process of closing his stall, the girl chases Byleth down to apologize.

“Truly, I am sorry about that,” the girl says, playing with her hair nervously. “There are swindlers even here. I am sure he stole those weapons.”

Byleth shrugs. It’s not like a little girl can hold everyone living in the city responsible. It’s likely not even the one tasked to oversee the marketplace can keep it all straightened out.

The girl follows her around from one weapon shop to the next, offering advice and commentary. Some of the merchants get nervous at the child’s presence, but others don’t appear to recognize her. The girl is probably a noble that doesn’t normally walk the streets.

“Um, I am looking for a friend of mine. He’s got red hair, he’s a little older than me, and if you met him, he’d probably tell you you’re beautiful.”

“ _Hello, Professor! You’re looking beautiful today.”_

That sounds oddly familiar. She gives the kid a searching look, but while the girl is pretty, Byleth doesn’t think her to be Ingrid. A long, fur-trimmed coat hides any possible clues, leaving her to stare at the girl’s face for any hint of recognition.

Those are some striking blue eyes, Byleth thinks.

The girl, taking Byleth’s expression wrongly, begins waving her hands frantically.

“Not that you aren’t beautiful! You’re very beautiful! Amazingly so! But he would be loud about it, and, uh,” the girl trails off and hides her reddening face behind her hands.

Byleth wonders if the various weapons piled up in her arms make her more attractive to the people of Fhirdiad. The more she buys, the nicer people are to her. It could just be the smell of money, but it wasn’t until she strapped a bow to her back that someone stuck a flower in her hair.

Poor girl with her one little knife; she probably needs reassurance.

“I think you’re pretty too,” Byleth says generously.

The girl immediately rips her hands away from her face to shout, “But I’m a guy!”

The little side street they stand in seems to go dead silent at that. Taking a step back, Byleth tilts her head and re-examines the child before her. She supposes what would be considered short hair for a girl is actually quite long for a boy.

“I couldn’t tell,” she says honestly.

The boy gapes at her, and a feeling of guilt hits Byleth as she notices the slightest shine of tears in his eyes. His face is still red, but Byleth assumes it’s from misplaced shame rather than embarrassment.

“You’re still very pretty,” she assures him.

She didn’t think the boy’s face could get any redder, but she’s soon proven wrong. Bowing his head, the boy’s hair covers his eyes, and his blush consumes the rest of his upper body. Even the ears poking out turn red.

Byleth squashes down the urge to tease him about it.

“I can help you look for your friend,” she offers instead.

“No, uh, no need. We know where to meet up if we can’t find each other,” the boy stutters, rubbing his burning neck.

Unsure of what to say, Byleth chooses to remain silent. Her arms grow heavy in the awkward atmosphere, and she considers walking away without another word.

She needs to go back to the tavern and deal with her purchases. Balan is counting on her to get the modifications done. She only has two days to set their plan into motion before Jeralt picks up the new job that takes them out of the city; there’s no time to dally.

For some reason, she can’t make herself move right now.

“I saw you come in with that mercenary group. Are you one of their kids? What places have you been to? Have you ever been here before?” The boy blurts out, blush gradually fading from his face.

“Yes, and I’m a mercenary too. Everywhere. No, but sometimes I feel like I have,” Byleth says wistfully.

Whatever expression rests on her face causes the boy to stare. As the silence drags on, Byleth knows she really has wasted too much time. She opens her mouth to tell him she has to go—

“My name is Dimitri. What’s yours?” The boy asks almost shyly.

...oh.

Those are some striking blue eyes that are peeking up at her through blond strands. Any attempts to turn that small, girly face into the hardened one from her memories fails. Truly, the boy before her is nothing more than a stranger.

“Byleth,” she says evenly.

Balan was right about destiny calling them here, and so too will he be right about blood following in their footsteps. She needs to say her goodbyes and get to work.

Hopeful blue eyes flash at her, and she feels her resolve crumbling.

“Would you like a tour of the city?”

_Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Don’t do it._

“Yes.”

* * *

“ _Mistakes have been made,_ ” Byleth says.

Balan blinks from where he reads inside the tavern room he shares with Jeralt and Byleth. He puts the book down, rolls over so he’s lying on the bed instead of lounging, and starts poking at their connection.

It doesn’t take Balan long to find out what Byleth has been up to. He grabs a pillow and screams into it when he discovers that Byleth is currently inside the castle about to dine with the king of Faerghus.

Jeralt pauses in the middle of sharpening his axe from the other bed to frown at him.

“You fool!” Balan utters.

“You said that out loud, kid,” Jeralt tells him.

“ _You fool!_ ” He tries again.

“ _I was only sightseeing!_ ” Byleth defends herself desperately. “ _But then a guard recognized me as Jeralt’s kid, and it escalated from there!_ ”

Yes, Balan knows that; he can see how people kept vouching for Jeralt’s kid until it got Byleth into trouble. Knight after knight heard those vouches, saw the prince by her side, and let Byleth into more and more private places until she had been basically ordered into the castle.

“ _You didn’t have to actually go! What am I, a polished glass to be kept in one’s pocket?_ ” Balan asks angrily.

Byleth doesn’t answer him, and Balan makes a noise of frustration at the child’s idiocy. He sits up, slings his legs over the bed’s side, and reaches for his armor hanging on the bed frame.

“What did your sister do this time?” Jeralt sets the axe and whetstone down in favor of his boots.

“She has tangled herself into a web of which the spider looks like a harmless butterfly. She has torn open the path to disaster and war and there is naught I can do to stop it! Too much time has gone by, and Byleth is resolved to it as the hard headed fool she is!” Sothis rages, angry that the paths of time are closed to her in this instance.

“In plain speak, kid.”

Balan takes a calming breath and straps as many knives on his person as possible. He should have known when Byleth came back to drop off those weapons that she seemed out of sorts. This is as much Balan’s fault as Byleth’s.

“She is trying to stop an assassination attempt on the royal family without anyone realizing it,” Balan answers bluntly.

Jeralt, attempting to attach the axe to its holster on his back, nearly drops it on his feet instead.

“Shit. There goes my booze night,” Jeralt rubs his face tiredly. “What’s the plan? You’re the one with the intel here.”

Balan considers his father thoughtfully before grabbing a bag that contains a special set of clothes. Perhaps the original plan can still work with some alterations.

“How do you feel about the royal family being indebted to Byleth?” Balan asks with false nonchalance.

“Oh, Goddess,” Jeralt groans as Balan smiles widely.

* * *

“ _Do not do anything reckless, Byleth. I shall be handling Cornelia, you need only to react to it._ ”

Byleth tries not to let the surprise show on her face at Balan’s words. She’s been blank faced since this dinner began, and she’s not about to stop now.

“I knew Jeralt the Blade Breaker had entered the city, but I did not think I would get to see a child of his. Tell me, what is he like?” King Lambert asks, leaning forward eagerly over his plate.

From beside the king, Dimitri cringes and hides his face with his hair. Gustave stands behind the king with a wrinkled forehead, and two more unidentifiable knights stand on either side of the room.

“Brusque. Professional. Probably terrifying to his enemies,” Byleth says.

“And he is training you to follow in his footsteps?” King Lambert asks once more as if in disbelief.

She nods and tries once more to remember which utensil is used for what. She fails by the way the eyes dig into her, and Byleth decides that as long as she isn’t using her bare hands, she should be good.

“Father, perhaps you should send word that you haven’t kidnapped his daughter?” Dimitri suggests meekly.

When she’d been called to meet the king, she had thought it was for punishment. Dimitri, being a child eager to make a new friend, hadn’t considered the consequences of showing Byleth places he shouldn’t have, but Byleth knew better.

Still, if being sent to the castle’s dungeons got Byleth that much closer to Cornelia, she wasn’t one to let opportunities pass her by. What she hadn’t expected was to be taken to an informal dining room instead of a jail cell, and that King Lambert was a fan of her father.

“He probably already knows,” Byleth says right before her heart beats.

Time flows backwards, and so it all begins once more.

“I knew Jeralt the Blade Breaker had entered the city, but I did not think I would get to see a child of his. Tell me, what is he like?” King Lambert asks, leaning forward eagerly over his plate.

“Brusque. Professional. Probably terrifying to his enemies,” Byleth says, trying not to sigh.

Whatever Balan is doing, it causes him to set back the hands of time again and again. Byleth doesn’t know how many more awkward dinners with the king she can take. She’ll take a cold dungeon over this kind of punishment any day.

“ _Hush, I am truly ready this time. Prepare yourself, Byleth. I have quite the frustrations to take out on you._ ”

True to his word, Balan uses no more Divine Pulses, and the relief makes Byleth far more warm and talkative to her hosts. King Lambert becomes enraptured with a particular retelling of ‘Jeralt versus Wyvern’ and even Dimitri can’t hide his enthusiasm for the tale.

All good things come to end eventually, and it is when Byleth is trying to find a polite way to say “I gotta go” that the screams start up. The door to the dining room bursts into splinters, and a small, hooded figure dressed in black robes dashes through the wreckage.

“Assassin!” Gustave throws himself in front of King Lambert while Byleth jumps onto the table to defend Dimitri.

The assassin weaves around the knights like water, and knives fly out of their sleeves. Byleth’s blade knocks away any that come close, and upon noticing the tiny blades exploding into nothing, Byleth narrows her eyes.

Those knives looked awfully familiar.

Finally understanding her role in this setup, Byleth lunges forward, and her sword meets another. The assassin’s blade is one she knows: she remembers Balan buying it during their stint in Alliance territory. They trade a number of blows before Byleth is thrown away with a blast of magic. 

“We will eliminate those who resent the sun!” The assassin proclaims with a bratty voice.

The assassin warps away, and the only sounds Byleth hears is her own ragged breathing. Balan may have pulled his punches, but that blast was still quite strong.

“Are you alright, my liege? Your highness?” Gustave asks, armor squealing with his frantic movements.

“I am fine, Gustave. Your shield was all that I needed. Dimitri?” King Lambert turns to his son.

“Byleth protected me!” Dimitri says with worryingly shiny eyes.

He really shouldn’t give her all the credit; both Gustave and King Lambert were ready to defend Dimitri if Byleth proved incapable. She could see it with the way they had formed their positions around the child.

One of the knights helps her up, and Byleth touches the skin above her eye carefully. No cuts, but it’s definitely bruised. Balan’s not too mad at her then.

“That assassin sounded like a little girl,” Gustave frowns, “and their stature doesn’t paint one of an adult. Could they be a student from the school of sorcery?”

“ _I have used my true voice twice tonight. Combined with the many warp spells, it has utterly drained me. You had better sing my praises when you get back_!”

“ _Twice?_ ” Byleth asks but gets no reply.

“Your majesty, Lady Cornelia has been killed!” A knight bursts into the room but stops to look back at the door that no longer exists.

“Cornelia?” King Lambert cries. “The assassin got her?”

“No, your majesty. She, ah,” the knight winces and bows his head.

“No? Well what? Out with it!” Gustave demands.

“Lady Cornelia was the first to spot the assassin and, well, she shoved a servant at the assassin before running away. The poor boy dropped the plate he was carrying. And then she, ah,” the knight stammers.

Silent and maniacal laughter fills Byleth’s head.

“She slipped on a piece of fruit, slid into the part of the second floor banister that needed repairing, and fell onto the ground below when it gave way.” The knight coughs. “And that’s when the chandelier fell on her before catching on fire.”

“It’s on fire?” King Lambert asks dazedly.

“Not anymore. The bathtub that fell through the ceiling above it was filled with water and appears to have doused it,” the knight says.

“What?” Is all anyone says.

“Your majesty, it was almost like it was the will of the Goddess,” the knight whispers fervently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you were expecting a super serious story, I am sorry. This is a reminder for the tags.
> 
> For the curious, Byleth and Dimitri parted ways so she could drop off all the weapons she bought. Dimitri then met up with Sylvain who was like (☞ﾟ∀ﾟ)☞ "Yeah, you go get that hunny!" And then went off to find innocent grandmas to flirt with.


	4. Chapter 4

Fear of more assassin attempts keeps Byleth locked in the castle until early morning. When she scurries back to the tavern, it’s with a brand new shield on her back and a letter in her pocket for Jeralt to read immediately.

The only thing waiting for her is a note that says everyone is out enjoying a bonfire and to ask someone for directions if she needs anything. It’s tempting to simply lie down on the bed and forget the letter, but Byleth treads through the dark city with weary steps.

Hollers and laughter can be heard long before she sets foot anywhere near the bonfire, and the smell of alcohol mingles with smoke on the wind.

It doesn’t take Byleth long to find the empty plaza that’s being used for the bonfire. Strangers and mercenaries alike stuff their faces with food and drink around a blaze so big it resembles a large tree. Boxes are used as tables and chairs, and blankets and cushions have been thrown everywhere haphazardly.

“Byleth, there you are!” A mercenary croons, waving a bottle at her. “Come look at Balan! Your pops finally allowed him to drink, and boy did he drink!”

She looks for Jeralt and finds him knocking back a bottle of his own in front of the fire. Beside him, curled up in a thick blanket, is Balan. A few other mercenaries and strangers are passed out in similar positions.

Grabbing a cushion for herself, Byleth takes a seat on the other side of her father. She pointedly ignores the whistles aimed at the shiny shield on her back.

“We’ve been here all night,” Jeralt emphasizes. “Your brother passed out around dinner time.”

Nodding, Byelth frowns at Balan. He doesn’t so much as twitch, and their connection remains worryingly silent.

“When he got back from that whole mess,” Jeralt tells her quietly, “he threw his clothes in the fire and laid down right there. He says he’ll be asleep for the next day or two, and not to bother him unless anyone wants their buttocks removed.”

Sounds like Balan. While Byleth doesn’t know exactly what he did, Balan undoubtedly overdid the magic use. Most mages who have mastered the arts can only use warp once or twice, but she gets the feeling Balan did far more than that.

“I’m too old to be dragging around bathtubs,” her father grumbles under his breath.

It also seems Balan had a passenger during his visit to the castle as well.

“How old are you?” She asks pointedly.

“Don’t care,” Jeralt replies immediately, “but it’s too damn old.”

Byleth sits back and enjoys the heat of the fire beside her father. Neither of them say anything, but the noise around them fills the silence. It’s only when her eyes begin closing that she remembers her reason for coming here.

“Letter from the king,” Byleth says, holding out the sealed paper.

Jeralt takes the letter and tears it open without a word. Angling the paper to better see in the light of the fire, he lets out a quiet swear. Byleth tries to get a look at it, but her father rolls up the letter and swats her with it.

“Looks like he wants to hire me for a job, but with royalty, it’s rarely just one, clean little job,” Jeralt explains.

What King Lambert wants will probably take a while too. Jeralt came to Fhirdiad for a reason unknown to Byleth, but they were supposed to leave near immediately.

“Are you going to turn it down?” She asks.

“Can anyone turn down a royal order? Sure it may sound like a request, but how many times do you think a king has heard ‘no?’ ” Jeralt asks wryly.

Byleth can’t answer that. She’s said ‘no’ to many kings in her various lives. One time she said it so viciously that Dimitri made her dinner by hand to apologize.

“This is a fine mess,” Jeralt sighs. “I came here to make a deal with someone. They were going to misdirect some information about us, but I have no doubt the church will hear all about Jeralt’s kid saving the prince of Faerghus.”

Jeralt takes a swig of his drink, and Byleth tries not to fidget in guilt. Since Balan knows exactly who Rhea is, it means Byleth knows too. Though they haven’t had a serious discussion about the church, about Byleth’s mother, or what caused Jeralt to go on the run in the first place, her father is more open about his evasion of the Church of Seiros.

“Why don’t you bring Balan to everyone’s attention too?” Byleth suggests.

Balan and Byleth are almost perfect copies of each other; absolutely no one will say they aren’t twins. Should Rhea ever get wind of Jeralt’s appearance at the Kingdom’s capital, she may not think either child to be the one lost to the fire all those years ago.

“Yeah, I probably will. I should come up with some details about us while I’m at it,” Jeralt mutters.

Too tired to make her way back to the tavern, Byleth grabs a blanket and undoes all her weapons and belts. She lies down in her previous spot next to Jeralt. The drunken yells and the blaze of the fire make it hard to fall asleep, but when fingers begin running through her hair, she almost melts into the cold ground beneath her.

Byleth dreams of a woman who weaves a crown of pale pink flowers with a smile.

“Do your best, okay?” The woman says.

* * *

“Looks like I’ll be investigating the school here in the city for the next few days. I’ll be out all night. Keep an eye on your brother, and don’t do anything crazy. I’ve managed to wrangle you out of going to church, but I can’t do anything if a religious nutjob grabs you on the street and decides you have to go,” Jeralt says.

The door closes behind him, and Byleth sits on the bed with her arms crossed. She watches Balan’s chest move slowly up and down from the other bed. Minutes trickle by, and Byleth feels the stirring of despair.

In her original youth, Byleth could sit and stare at a wall for hours on end. Loneliness and boredom hadn’t been something Byleth felt. Burning curiosity to explore the world around her was absent as well.

Here and now, with only the companionship of an unconscious Balan by her side, it doesn’t take long for Byleth to get sick of the small tavern room.

“You were amazing. Hurry up and wake up so I can say it again,” she tells Balan.

Her other self continues sleeping on, and Byleth sighs. Though she doesn’t like the idea of leaving him here defenseless, Byleth knows she will go mad without something to do.

She straps her weapons on and locks the door behind her. At least her father was cautious enough to get a room with a lock, or Byleth wouldn’t leave no matter how much discomfort she is in.

Destiny calls her when she’s barely stepped away from the tavern.

“Byleth!” Dimitri calls out before approaching with a smile. “There you are. The choir is about to start. Shouldn’t you be making your way to church?”

She blinks at the amount of gold embroidery that dazzles Dimitri’s collar. A plain cloak hides the rest of his outfit, but she spies flashes of white and gold through the openings.

“Were you looking for me?” Byleth asks.

“Not in particular. I mean, I am always looking for you—no, I mean, you’re just very noticable, and, uh.” Dimitri wilts before saying miserably, “My friend ran away, and I can’t find him.”

She’ll bet her whole purse that his ‘friend’ is Sylvain who’s busy chasing after someone’s skirt. Even as a child, Sylvain had been shameless.

“Have you given up on him?” She looks around for a shock of red hair and sees nothing.

“Yes,” Dimitri sighs in frustration. “One day, he’s going to get into trouble for skipping service.”

The boy before her looks like a kicked puppy. Large, shiny eyes stare at Byleth, and she considers how to make it stop.

“I’ll go with you to church, but only if you tell me more about the city,” she says, causing Dimitri to light up at her words.

“Yes, and maybe you can tell me more about the places you’ve been! Oh, wait, then we wouldn’t be even.” Dimitri's expression falls.

“That’s fine. You’ll just owe me one later.”

There is a reason Jeralt keeps Byleth away from the Church of Seiros, but she doesn’t think one service will make much of a difference after stopping an assassination atempt on the royal family. Either Byleth’s presence will travel back to Rhea, or it won’t.

She follows Dimitri to the church towering above most of the city and a pang of sadness hits her at how shiny and meticulous everything is. The people in their ridiculous clothes sneer at her mercenary armor before looking away to whisper to the person next to them.

“Don’t pay them any mind. I am sure the Goddess is happy you are here,” Dimitri tells her. “I know I am.” Apparently he didn’t mean to say that last part because his face goes bright red.

Byleth is taken to the front of the room. Even though she’s not allowed to sit with royalty, Dimitri shows her to a pew filled with knights. They give her strange looks, and she stares back blankly until they look away.

Byleth will admit that it’s a little maddening to attend church as a nonbeliever, but it’s not wholly uncomfortable. She has been to this same church many times as the archbishop to guide the people into a new way of thinking.

She’s not sure how well she succeeded though.

The church service goes on for near eternity, and she mouths the words of Seiros when it's called for. No one notices her silence in the echoing of the room around her.

At some point, she notices Edelgard and her uncle in attendance. A feeling of conflict rises inside her. One way or another, those two will have to be dealt with before they leave the city.

“We give our problems up to you, dear Goddess. It is by your will that we continue to live, and your hands guide us when we are wandering in darkness,” the priest says, leading them in the finishing prayer.

If only they knew Sothis’ main way to solve a problem was to chop off its head, or that the Goddess avoids church services like the plague.

Byleth checks in on Balan before spending the rest of her afternoon walking around the city with Dimitri and helping him find his friend. Her hopes to meet Sylvain are dashed by the fact that while it’s easy to spot where he’s been, it’s incredibly hard to follow his trail.

“You two know that child?” A beak-nosed woman cries with eyes that look ready to pop out of her head.

Understanding that they’ll be getting no information out of this woman, Byleth grabs Dimitri by the hand and turns on her heel sharply. Vicious shrieks follow after them like a curse.

“He always does this!” Dimitri complains as they run away.

“Put a leash on him and tie it to that woman,” Byleth says. “He’ll stop for a while.”

“It’s an idea,” he mutters.

She knows she’s using Dimitri to avoid her real issue. Seeing Edelgard at the church is a harsh reminder that Byleth can’t avoid it forever. She needs to make up her mind. Either cut Edelgard down or make the resolution to save her.

Either way, there will be no leaving this city without making a decision.

Parting ways without ever finding Sylvain, Byleth wanders the streets until the cold of night settles over Fhirdiad. She should go back and check on Balan, but she can’t bring herself to face him while she’s still so uncertain.

It’s time to end this.

“ _After tonight, I will not waver anymore_ ,” Byleth says, but her head remains silent.

Balan is not the only one who can use their connection to their benefit. He knows where Edelgard is, and Byleth will too in a moment. While it’s riskier for Byleth to delve into a deity’s head than it is the other way, she is willing to take that chance.

_The crowds are heavy around him. His prey continues on until they stop outside an inn. He pulls his cloak tighter around him and waits._

Byleth’s legs travel the same path Balan walked, and she soon comes upon the inn Edelgard and Arundel stay at. It is Balan, not Byleth who stares at it with weary eyes.

One swift move of her sword, and vengeance will be hers. For breaking her heart over and over again.

“ _My teacher..._ ”

A whisper on the wind drags Byleth’s attention to a nearby alleyway. A shiver goes down her spine, but she doesn’t hesitate to move to the opening. The closer she gets, the more the light of the moon fades away into a tangible darkness that grabs at her legs.

“ _Save me…_ ”

It’s as if she’s moving against an ocean. Gritting her teeth, Byleth continues toward that alleyway even as her boots become heavier with each step. The sound of the city ceases by the time she gets to the entrance, and an unnatural blue light shines from overhead.

“With her dead, I have to hasten my plans! Rejoice, for it is your bodies that will attain my revenge.”

The words are a familiar hiss from a nightmare past. Armor swallowed by an extravagant cape shines beneath the blue light, and a pale face is framed by equally pale hair. Blank eyes glow against the shadows swallowing them.

She knows that man anywhere.

Thales.

A gauntlet holds Arundel up by the neck as another twists slowly into his chest. On the ground, Edelgard is slumped over and convulsing. Though it is hard to see, blood pools on the stones beneath them.

_I will save you._

Breathing out healing spells, white magic courses through the alleyway, causing Thales to let go of Arundel and take a step back. Byleth doesn’t regret losing the element of surprise when purple eyes gaze up at her beneath bloodied, brown bangs.

“Byleth?” Edelgard whispers.

“How have you managed to penetrate my barrier?” Thales demands before throwing a spell at her.

Byleth dodges, and lightning snaps against stone walls. She dashes forward and brings her sword down. Thales keeps her at bay with a barrier, but cracks form from where it stops her sword.

“I have long waited for this day, Thales,” Byleth utters.

Even as the hatred consumes her, Byleth’s hands are steady as she strikes the barrier continuously. Thales uses a dark spell to push her away, and her blade snaps under the pressure.

“Who are you?” Thales hisses.

Byleth throws the broken sword down and punches him in the face. A spike of acid is sent through her shoulder, and she kicks Thales away from her.

The familiar sensation of an oncoming warp brushes her skin, and Byleth jumps up to dig her nails into Thales’ neck.

“Go on, run!” She snarls as Thales tries to sling her off. “Take me to your home and let me burn it to ashes!”

A hand filled with dark magic comes dangerously close to her face, but Byleth only holds on tighter. The whistling of an arrow pierces the unnatural silence, and Thales howls as it goes through his gauntlet.

Standing on the roof above them, Balan notches another arrow.

“You once feared my fury, but it seems you have forgotten. Let me show you what it means to be my enemy,” Sothis says darkly.

Byleth twists on Thales’ shoulders to give Sothis a better shot, and the Goddess releases the arrow. Thales cries out as it hits his lower stomach. Throwing her bow away, Sothis reaches for something on her back.

Byleth let’s go of Thales as Balan jumps down with an axe in hand.

“Keep away from my heart and my headache!” Balan swings the axe at Thales’ neck with all his might.

Thales manages to warp away but not before the blade goes through half of his neck. The darkness with its unnatural light shatters around them like glass, and Balan leans against the wall with an aggravated sigh.

The strain of a Divine Pulse right now might kill Balan; they have no choice but to let him go.

Byleth shelves her frustration for more important matters.

“Check her for injuries,” Byleth orders before bending over the still form of Arundel.

He’s not in a good way—there's a gaping hole in his chest along with a black stone that needs to come out—but Byleth has more than enough magic to heal most of Arundel’s injuries. She says as much, and Edelgard begins sobbing in relief.

“She’s fine,” Balan says, kneeling over Edelgard. He taps her head and quietly sends a weak heal spell through her body. “She's a strong child.”

Edelgard grabs onto Balan’s hand and tugs on it hard enough to send him crashing into her. There’s a crack as skulls collide, and pained groans follow suit. Byleth sighs without looking away from her patient.

“Do you ever think in that hard head of yours—” Balan’s berating stops short, and he tilts his head. “Were your eyes always purple?”

“Ah, the spell!” Edelgard pushes Balan away and reaches for her face; she freezes midway. Lowering her hands slowly, Edelgard leans forward with wide eyes to ask, “Were your eyes always green?”

“They are no such thing!” Balan exclaims, immediately slapping a hand over his eyes. “The moon cannot light a candle much less this patch of night!”

“ _Your deniability loses its effect when you are covering your face_ ,” Byleth says.

Balan huffs at her before flopping down on the cold ground next to Edelgard. The girl doesn’t fuss when he pushes her head onto his shoulder and pulls his cloak around them. It’s not for Edelgard’s benefit but to make it so she can’t look at his eyes and hair.

Neither Byleth nor Balan care about the blood soaking into their clothes, or the cold that seeps into their skin.

It takes longer than she’d like for Arundel to get back on his feet, but the green color fades from Balan by the time he’s up and able to talk. Byleth keeps a firm grip on Arundel’s arm and looks him in the eye.

“If you want to repay us for saving your life, you will take Edelgard to her mother. No schemes, no politics. Just let them see each other,” Byleth says.

“My mother?” Edelgard whispers, squeezing Balan’s arm hard enough to make him grunt.

“You will tell the king that we have killed the assassin that entered the castle. It was a child on the cusp of adulthood that attacked you this night,” Balan orders.

“And if the assassin comes back?” Arundel bares his teeth.

“They will not. Not after this night,” Balan says solemnly.

There’s a moment of intense staring before Arundel nods his head in understanding. Balan pulls Edelgard up and pushes her to her uncle. Tears pool in the corner of her eyes as she looks up at Arundel.

“It appears I owe you more than my thanks,” Arundel chuckles grimly. “Very well. Let us go see your mother, my niece,” he says, holding a hand out to Edelgard.

“Right now?” She whispers.

“Right now,” Arundel promises.

Byleth and Balan follow after the two as they make their way to the castle. Edelgard glances back at them the entire time, and once they reach a well-lit street, their ruined and bloodied clothes cause alarm with the nearby knights.

No one notices two mercenaries slipping away into the shadows.

“ _Thales was going to take Arundel’s identity like how Kronya took Monica’s_ ,” Byleth realizes.

“ _Yes, it seems we were wrong about him. I know not what plans he had for Edelgard, or whether he truly cares for the child, but my desire for his head has faded into the chill of the night._ ”

Balan leans against Byleth as they walk farther away from Arundel and Edelgard, and more weight comes to rest on Byleth’s shoulder with every step. She glances at Balan with concern, but he waves it away with a sigh.

“Come, Byleth. It appears we must make haste and put up our own barrier before they return in numbers.”

“ _What kind of barrier?_ ” Byleth wonders.

“ _An anti-warping one_.”

“What do you need?” Byleth asks out loud.

“Blood. Lots of it and it matters not what kind. We will need charcoal and blue stone. Any blue stone.”

They end up raiding many storehouses for their ingredients. There’s no way to pay back the butchers and the merchants they steal from, so they don’t bother keeping tabs on what they take.

Byleth considers it payment for saving Fodlan.

From there, they mix the ingredients in four large bowls and paint every patch of darkness they find with it. An infusement of magic causes the mixture to glow for a brief moment before it turns invisible.

“ _You are wondering how I know to do this,_ ” Balan states tiredly.

Byleth says nothing and continues to paint the ground around someone’s house. The anti-warp barrier doesn’t need a pretty design or a specific place so long as they work inwards-to-outwards in a spiral over the city.

“ _I have been to war with the Agarthans before. I know how to fight them with their own petty tricks,_ ” Sothis scoffs bitterly. “ _After all, I was the one who taught them their technology, their magic._ ”

“ _What were they to you?_ ” Byleth asks, knowing but not knowing at the same time.

“ _Beasts in human skin. I loved them, those humans, but they decided to use their new knowledge to subjugate anyone they viewed as lesser than themselves._ ”

“It was my mistake to treat them like the rest of my children,” Sothis admits quietly.

Throwing down the brush to reach out with a desperate plea on her lips, Sothis’ expression twists into one of madness.

“Byleth, I beg you. Help me kill every last one of them!”

Blood drips down her arm, but Byleth grabs Sothis’ hand anyway. There was never a question about letting those people live. She places their hands over the heart that remains unbeating in Byleth’s chest.

“We will make it so not even history will remember them,” Byleth swears.

* * *

“Amazing. I leave you for one day. One day,” Jeralt says under his breath as he scrubs their necks and backs. “And I come back to you two covered in blood and surrounded by stolen jewels while the merchants are running around the city in a blind rage.”

“We love you,” both Byleth and Balan say immediately.

The bathtub is cramped with both of them in it, but their meeting with the king is in an hour. There’s no time for separate baths, and it’s too cold to wash outside. They’re honestly lucky that the tavern even has a tub to begin with.

Jeralt lays down the washcloth to fill up a pitcher with clean water from the wash basin.

“You better,” Jeralt scowls before dumping a bucket of blissfully warm water over their heads. “I am too damn old for this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Byleth did the exact opposite of what Jeralt told her to do, like 100%.


	5. Chapter 5

With Arundel doing nothing to refute Byleth and Balan’s claim of what happened that night—”They used their last moment to warp away, but they died while doing so. They left a part of themselves behind, if you would like to hold it for yourself.” “Ah, no, that won’t be necessary. Please stop waving the spleen at me, Balan.”—they are proclaimed heroes of Faerghus.

Byleth is handed a beautifully made lance as a reward; it’s a bit disappointing that she won’t have much use for it. The lance is strong and light, but it’s unique design will serve as a way to identify her wherever she goes.

Jeralt accepts a similarly designed sword on Balan’s behalf, who’s unable to take the weapon as he has to be held between Jeralt and Byleth to remain standing. The king, his aides, and even his knights gaze openly at Balan with concern.

“And you are sure you do not need a healer?” King Lambert asks with furrowed brows.

“I assure you, I am fine as I am,” Balan replies stubbornly.

Byleth may have the wounded shoulder, but it is Balan that everyone believes to be grievously injured. Considering their father ends up carrying him out the castle and back to the tavern, it is an understandable mistake.

Jeralt isn’t happy that both his kids are wounded from their late night shenanigans. Neither of them will tell him what actually happened, and their silence drives him to drink with a glower on his face. He’s also not happy that their injuries, while not too terrible, mean they need at least a week before they are well enough to travel.

“ _Can we stay that long?_ ” Byleth asks.

“ _You are wondering if they will summon their missiles while we are here. Do not fear. Those ‘javelins of light’ require_ _a_ _magic of which we have guarded against with our barrier. They cannot ‘aim’ at this city, you might say._ ”

Reassured, Byleth spends half the week lightly training or brushing up on her spell work. Her shoulder will completely heal as long as she doesn’t overdo it. Balan, on the other hand, spends most of that time sleeping and eating.

Dimitri and Edelgard are nowhere to be seen. They probably have a lot of personal matters to deal with, but Byleth can’t help but look for them on her walks around the city anyway.

“Assuming the king hasn’t executed Edelgard to prevent the whispers of a scandal, it will be good for those two to solidify their bonds,” Balan remarks.

How strange to know that Cornelia’s death wasn’t the biggest wave the two of them have made so far. Edelgard was never meant to meet Dimitri in the Kingdom’s capital, yet she is now somewhere in the castle, hopefully in her mother’s embrace.

“ _How strange indeed._ _If all of them had only spoken to each other, trusted each other, perhaps Dimitri would have agreed to_ _wed_ _Edelgard_ _and joined_ _their kingdoms. With a promise of friendship, Claude would have given them the Alliance before leaving for Almyra._ ”

Echoes of a fully-grown Claude with a secretive smile suddenly come to mind, and Sothis’ words are like a sweet whisper inside her head.

“ _If they unite, then w_ _ith their strength the Agarthans w_ _ill_ _stand no chance. Peace_ _can_ _reign in Fodlan without bloodshed._ ”

Byleth can almost see the world Sothis speaks of: a Fodlan without the need of either of them in it. Those three could tear down the power of the church without forcing the people to choose between a new thought and an old one. Crests could fade out gradually as a new system takes its place.

They’d attain their dreams without ever needing to lift a sword, and all it would take is Dimitri and Edelgard marrying each other while Claude rides off into the sunset.

She feels something within her shatter at the idea. She doesn’t know what. Balan is unhelpful when she reaches out to him about it.

“ _Byleth, listen to me. You will never be able to go back. Focus on this future._ ”

He’s right of course. She’s all but declared war on Thales, and only the fact that she doesn’t wield the Sword of the Creator keeps him from knowing who she is. There is simply no time to wallow in memories, and even her time in Fhirdiad is nothing more than a distraction.

Admittedly, it is quite the loud distraction. She nearly throws her new lance at Edelgard when she kicks down the bedroom door. Dropping her book, Byleth can only stare as the little girl stomps over to where Balan lies on the bed.

“I heard from your father that you’ve been doing nothing but growing fat and lazy!” Edelgard scowls down at his prone figure.

“I think you mistook myself for a reflection in the bathtub!” Balan scowls back.

Without showing any signs of physical strain, Edelgard grabs Balan by the arms and drags him off the bed and out the door. Byleth pokes her head out to watch a weakly struggling Balan disappear down the hallway, nightgown and all.

A furious tirade floats through the walls before fading away; it could make a seasoned warrior blush.

Byleth debates following after them before choosing to go back to her book. It’s not until she finishes that she decides to go looking for her wayward other self. She’s not too worried; while their connection remains a buzz of anger, Balan hasn’t actually asked her for help.

Dimitri finds her not too long in her halfhearted search. He follows her around while making lighthearted chatter, but there’s no mention of Edelgard. It seems he’s learned his lesson about oversharing. There’s a wistful feeling settling in her chest as he instead tells her about a friend who is clearly Ingrid.

She won’t lie; she’s going to miss this child that stalks her like a stupid wolf cub.

“You’re leaving?”

The words are spoken with a squeaky whine, and it’s all she can do to keep from reaching out to pat him on the head. Big, sad blue eyes make her briefly consider the consequences of kidnapping the prince of Faerghus.

“I’m a mercenary. It’s part of the job,” she says apologetically.

“What if Father hired you? There is no shortage of things to do here!” Dimitri exclaims.

That’s probably true. The Holy Kingdom remains more stable than the other two territories, but unrest can be found even in the heart of the capital. Murmurs of an anti-Duscur faction rising in the shadows can be heard spoken in the same breath as the Western Church.

Also, King Lambert maintains a starry-eyed disposition any time Jeralt comes up. Byleth has no doubt he would hire her father in a heartbeat.

She shakes her head at Dimitri’s hopeful look.

“I still need to leave. There is something I must do to make the future bright,” Byleth says.

“I see.” Though disappointed, he doesn’t attempt to get her to stay after that.

Byleth completely misses the way Dimitri gazes at the shops they pass.

When the week is up, and Balan is able to walk more than a short distance, Jeralt all but shoves them towards the horse stables. Byleth huddles in her cloak and glares at her father when he tries to push them into loading faster. Balan actually throws his pack at someone before falling to the ground in protest.

She understands Jeralt’s need to leave, but there’s no point in rushing. If King Lambert or the church sent word to Rhea despite Jeralt’s best efforts, then it’s not like they will have a chance to hide; the lands around Fhirdiad are completely barren.

It’s also very cold in the morning, Byleth thinks while shivering. Having the sun out would have been nice.

“You two are something else,” Jeralt sighs before pulling Balan up from the ground. “Come on, hurry up. There’s someone waiting to say goodbye.”

Byleth and Balan share a similar look of confusion, and Jeralt ruffles their hair with another sigh. They don’t pack the horses any faster, but the cold feels less biting after hearing of someone enduring the same just to see them off.

“ _I thought as much_ ,” Balan says as they near the well-lit area of the city’s gates.

Dimitri, wrapped in a heavy fur cloak, waits for them beside a young knight who bears a striking resemblance to Felix. Even though there’s a slight redness to his cheeks, Dimitri’s eyes are closed, and he looks close to dozing off. Upon spotting Byelth at the head of the caravan, the Felix look-alike less than subtly jabs Dimitri with his elbow.

“Oh, um, Byleth!” Dimitri flails before racing over to her. He looks behind Byleth with wide eyes. “And Balan, right? I’ve seen you before, but I can’t get over how much you look like Byleth.” He shakes his head. “Oh, pardon me. Balan, this is for you.”

A quick rummage through a pouch sees Dimitri dangling a heart-shaped charm out to Balan. The heart is small; it’s made of black iron with flecks of gold, and there’s a circular engraving in the center. Narrowing her eyes, Byleth comes to the conclusion that she’s seen this charm before: it’s a novelty from Enbarr.

“It’s a protection charm. I was told to give this to you. She said you’d know who it was from, and that you were, ah,” Dimitri rubs his neck awkwardly before quoting, “ ‘a hopeless cause that wouldn’t know how to survive without his sister.’ ”

Balan’s eye twitches, but he takes the protection charm without refuting the claim. Instead of throwing it over his shoulder or jamming it into a pouch, Balan ties the charm to his belt. Upon noticing Byleth and Dimitri watching him intently with smiles on their faces, he scowls fiercely and hurls insults at them.

Their smiles only intensify which makes Balan’s own sour expression deepen. The Felix look-alike coughs pointedly.

“Oh! I have something for you too, Byleth. It’s from me.”

Dimitri pulls a leather sheath out from beneath his cloak and holds it out to her with both hands. Having a sinking feeling, Byleth takes it hesitantly. Wrapping a hand around the silver handle, she slides it out of the sheath, and a small, beautiful blade greets her.

“It’s to help you.” Dimitri looks at the dagger with a blush on his cheeks. “With this, you can cut a path for yourself.”

“ _The puppy fetches his master a stick_ , _never knowing that he snatched it right out of fate’s hands,_ ” Balan says with a giggle.

Byleth ignores the silent laughter in her head to stare at the weapon resting in her palm. No matter how much she tries, she can’t recall whether this is the same dagger Edelgard received in those other lives. It doesn’t matter, she supposes.

“Thank you. I will definitely create a new path,” she sheathes the blade solemnly. “I will walk towards a new, brighter dawn.”

* * *

There’s not much that can be done against the Agarthans while Jeralt is in the dark about it. They’ll just be pulled from one sleepy village to the next if they don’t say anything to him, and the one place the Agarthans won’t be is in a sleepy village.

Telling Jeralt the truth is a long-standing argument between Byleth and Balan. It could destroy their very way of life if handled wrongly, and there’s always the chance that Jeralt will not believe them in the slightest.

However, it’s a ridiculous fear considering _they have the power to turn back time, Balan_.

“ _Do you want him to look at you as one does a Goddess statue? Or are you ready to embrace the sting of rejection? Perhaps he will finally drink himself to death to be rid of us entirely,_ ” Balan snaps back.

While Byleth isn’t too worried about Jeralt’s reaction to their story, Balan can’t seem to fathom trusting their father with any amount of secrets.

“That’s the point, he is not my father!” Balan accidentally screams out loud.

The campfire goes deadly silent, and Balan crosses his arms with a huff. Byleth places her roasting stick down as the mercenaries look from Jeralt to Balan with bated breath. They’ve barely made it into Alliance territory, and everyone’s already itching for dinner time drama.

“Say what now?” Jeralt raises an eyebrow.

“ _I do not wish to have to speak anymore of this. Turn back time, Byleth,_ ” Balan orders.

Exasperation hits her. Balan can use Divine Pulses just as well as Byleth. Why does she always have to set back time? There’s being lazy, and then there’s being a Hilda.

Looking at Jeralt with a blank face, Byleth says, “Balan is upset because he thinks you won’t love him if you knew he was the Goddess.”

“ _BYLETH!_ ”

Jeralt looks back at her with an equally blank face. If Byleth was more prone to jokes, there’s no doubt the air would be filled with snickering and laughs instead of the current dead silence.

“Also, we’re trying to change the future so Fodlan doesn’t go to war, and you don’t die,” Byleth continues blandly.

“ _TURN BACK NOW,_ ” Sothis orders.

“There’s a secret group of people we’re trying to kill. We have a weird power that lets us—”

Time washes over Byleth to flow back before Balan first said anything. The roasting stick is back in her hand, and she reaches for another piece of rabbit meat. Jeralt throws a bundle of vegetables at her head to ensure she isn’t eating only meat.

“ _Now that we’ve done it the first time, the second go shouldn’t be so bad,_ ” Byleth says pleasantly.

The glower Balan sends her might potentially turn her food to ash.

Eventually, though begrudgingly, Balan agrees with her and begins planning a grand speech to sweep Jeralt into their madness. The two of them are to corner Jeralt when he’s by himself. Byleth will take the lead to convince him of their sincerity before Balan sweeps in to finish with a big reveal.

When Jeralt goes fishing before their next big job, they leap at the chance to put their plan into action. Balan shoos away anyone trying to join in by declaring this a parent and child bonding moment, and they wait until Jeralt is good and relaxed by the river’s edge before trying anything.

After making sure there is no one around, Byleth opens her mouth.

“We have to fulfill the request of the Goddess,” Balan blurts out before she can get a word in.

“You what?” Jeralt asks, lowering his fishing pole.

Balan stiffens upon recognizing his mistake, and he drops his fishing pole at the water’s edge. He doesn’t see the hook catch onto his tunic.

Byleth casts her line and sits back to watch the ensuing mess. This is a learning opportunity. They shouldn’t set back time until the moment has played itself out.

Balan glares at her for her thoughts, and she smirks.

“Byleth and I are connected to her intimately. We know her thoughts and feelings, and we have decided to undertake her wish to save all of Fodlan. We will strike down her enemies in the shadows and prevent the future she has shown us,” Balan babbles. “Death awaits many unless we do something!”

Jeralt turns to stare at Byleth. While Balan can be prone to dramatics, Byleth is almost ruthlessly short and to-the-point. If he was hoping for her to tell him it’s all a joke, she has news for him.

“Rhea put the Goddess’ Crest Stone in my heart to save my life. Now I can see the streams of time. I will save everyone from being killed in a war caused by mole people,” Byleth says.

The intense staring contest between her and Jeralt eventually ends with him throwing his hands up in resignation. Byleth considers it a victory and doesn’t allow Balan to set back time no matter how much he begs.

“ _That was terrible! My grand speech is ruined! I do not see how this could have gone worse,_ ” he tells her.

It is then that Balan’s fishing pole falls into the river and yanks him in with it. Jeralt dives in after him immediately while Byleth laughs so hard she cries.

There are a lot more talks over the next few days before Jeralt can believe them completely, but they eventually convince him to leave the Leicester Alliance for the Adrestian Empire. While the Agarthan’s base is in Alliance territory, their main movement is in the Empire where the church holds little influence.

“ _We will need the Sword of the Creator before we can hope to take them out at the source._ _Until then,_ _w_ _e should concentrate on either saving or destroying the Western Church before they become a problem._ ”

* * *

The Western church’s monastery is different from the Central church’s. It’s smaller, more menacing, and stricter in who can roam the grounds. Whereas Garreg Mach breathes light, there’s a gloom settling into the stone here. Priests run around muttering incantations instead of scripture, and warriors do little else but train.

Though Fodlan shares one sky, within the dark walls of the Western church, it’s hard to see it through the looming spirals.

Byleth also can’t remember the monastery’s name for her life; someone should really rethink the use of long and complicated names in forgotten languages.

“ _Byleth, stop daydreaming and focus on the task at hand._ ”

With a quiet sigh, she moves her eyes away from the stained glass windows to the congregation staring at her with wide eyes and gaping mouths. She crosses her legs in an imitation of sitting down and tries not to stare at the bodies bleeding out on the polished floor.

“ _This is really uncomfortable_ ,” Byleth says.

The wire holding her in the air is digging into her ass. There’s no protection from it in what can barely be called a dress, and it feels like all it would take is a strong wind to send her falling.

“ _Deal with it. Who do you think is currently holding you up because the pulley_ _broke off_ _?_ ”

“Your leader has long left this world,” Byleth says, archbishop speech falling onto her tongue seamlessly. “Only his face remained, and the wicked took it to lead you astray. They claimed another face with the desire to work their evil ways until they obtained every soul, but with this, the Goddess’ words shall now reach your ears in full and untainted.”

Technically, only the financial advisor was an Agarthan, but the Western church leader had been doing some terrible things in the shadows. Byleth decided to behead them both in one go.

Razor sharp wire, some useless magic light tricks she learned from Annette once upon a time, and the knowledge of who stood where during prayer time was all it took for everyone to believe her a divine being.

Well, it also helps that Jeralt slipped some scary looking, made-up pagan artifacts on the victims before leaving to go fish while saying, “Don’t tell me, I don’t want to know.” Byleth is sure he’s actually somewhere outside, listening in and prepared to knock down the door with an axe in hand.

“Oh, holy messenger of the Goddess, how can we ever repay you for showing us the demons amongst our midst?”

Byleth folds her hands over the blue skirt that is trying to ride up her crotch and considers the priest before her. The headpiece and strands tied into her long, green hair are making her head itch. She wonders if asking everyone to look away so she can yank them out would be too much.

“ _Oh, by the stars, just tell them you would like them to play nice with the other churches!_ ”

“Dear believers, you have been used by malevolent forces to pursue actions of evil, but neither are you unjust in your feelings towards those that oppose your prayers. Heed me now, it is on your shoulders to be the better man, to hold your hands out in charity not in war. It will be the Goddess herself who will strike down divine judgement on those you consider your enemies.”

Byleth holds her hands up as if to pray and lets loose another blinding light. Balan uses the opportunity to warp himself and everything in his hands to a spot outside the monastery walls.

Unfortunately, there is a difference in height between them that Balan must account for. That means Byleth is dumped into a pond while Balan is thrown onto the steep slope of the hill around it. When she struggles to swim with the wire still attached to her, Balan reels her in like a fish.

The wire digs so far into Byleth’s ass that she’s going to be sore for days.

“Tell me, how does it feel to be on the other side for once?” Balan smirks as she claws her way to the bank.

She glares as hard as she can before ripping off her hair ornament and tossing it at his face. Quite a few strands are pulled out, but she can barely feel the pain. It is for naught: Balan dodges the ornament without even trying.

“You two are crazy, you know that?”

Jeralt slides down the hill to join them. In one hand is a fishing pole and in the other is a large fish pail. Setting the items down, Jeralt takes out a knife and cuts the wire off of her. Byleth hugs his leg in gratitude.

“Alright, enough. You’re wiping pond scum all over my boots,” Jeralt grumbles.

She lets go of him to grimace at the green plants clinging to her skin like a second layer. Ironically, the pond scum keeps her modest whereas her dress has turned into little more than strips of cloth.

“I see you didn’t forget to bring a change of clothes.” Balan peers into the fish pail.

Byleth hugs her father’s leg again. He pries her off of him and tries to shake the pond scum off his boots and pants to no avail. Balan throws her clothes and a cleaning cloth at her head.

The two of them turn around to give her some privacy while she wipes off and changes. Balan waves a hand at their father.

“Perhaps we are crazy, but we were not the ones that infiltrated the monastery by telling the first person they saw,” Balan calls over his shoulder, “what was it again, Byleth?”

“ ‘Down with Rhea,’ ” Byleth quotes with a bland voice that is in actuality an imitation of her father’s not-so-good acting.

“Well, it worked,” Jeralt defends himself.

The green in her eyes and hair recedes by the time she is back into her mercenary armor, and exhaustion hits her as Jeralt settles down to fish in the pond. Balan lets out a yawn for the both of them, and they both curl up right there beside their father.

Hopefully they really will get fish for dinner.

There is no doubt in her mind that word will reach Rhea’s ears, or that she will be able to connect Jeralt’s appearance with the holy messenger of the Goddess. Blasphemy, Rhea might think until she hears about the green eyes and hair.

That’s fine though. Garreg Mach Monastery is where destiny awaits them, and she has no plans to run from it. Only with the Sword of the Creator by her side can she save them all.

Sothis has a few words she’d like to say to her daughter as well.

...but that can wait for a little while longer. Byleth is cold, and the sun feels nice right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeralt has given up trying to understand his kids, so he latches onto the three things he knows: fighting, fishing, alcohol.


	6. Chapter 6

When the fated day arrives, it does not come as a whisper or with the yells of a bandit chasing three abandoned students through the woods. There is no gentle wake-up from a mysterious dream before being alerted to trouble, and there is no Jeralt standing at the back with a protective presence.

Fate has decided that to get Byleth to Garreg Mach Monastery, it must entail a shrieking demonic beast barreling through the woods after two unfortunate siblings who tried and failed to kill it. In turn, these two siblings run in the direction of three unfortunate students who were abandoned in the middle of a training exercise.

“Claude, enough! It’s unbecoming of a house leader to continue insulting a teacher whether they are present or not.” Edelgard’s expression is stern, but the axe in her grip is lowered in defeat.

“Are you trying to say that our completely _amazing_ and _terrific_ teacher didn’t just run off and leave us?” Claude looks around the empty forest clearing pointedly.

“I am certain there is a reason for it. Admittedly, I cannot say if it is a good one or not,” Dimitri says, and the hand not clutching a lance curls under his chin.

“Five gold that our ‘respectable’ teacher is gorging out on the supplies we brought,” Claude snorts while twirling an arrow with nimble fingers.

“You are truly—” Dimitri begins before Edelgard holds up a hand to silence him.

“Wait. Was that a scream?” Edelgard asks.

The three of them look around with unease, and a rustling in the bushes jolt them into a defensive position. Not a moment later, Byleth and Balan jump out with blades drawn, hair tangled with leaves, and awkwardly panicked expressions.

Silent glances are exchanged in an ensuing standoff. Byleth slowly reaches up to pull a particularly painful twig out of her hair when it becomes clear that no one is going to move anytime soon.

“Byleth? _Balan_?” Edelgard gapes.

A Black Eagles cape is worn proudly over a uniform that ends in red tights, but it is brown hair, not white, that adorns Edelgard’s head. Wide purple eyes flicker between Balan and Byleth before settling on the heart-shaped charm dangling from Balan’s belt.

“Byleth?” Dimitri lowers his lance immediately, and his blue eyes never stray from Byleth’s face.

Like Edelgard, his outfit is identical to the one from Byleth’s memories, but the hair is different. Long blond locks are slicked back at the top before falling around the ears. The hairstyle is almost reminiscent of an older Dimitri.

“Friends of yours?” Claude rightfully assumes.

Guarded green eyes move slowly between all of them, but there is no noticeable change to the leader of the Golden Deer house. It comes at a relief even if the arrow aimed at her head is not.

Sounds of trees snapping and falling get louder, and the ground begins shaking; Byleth is sharply reminded of why she was running in the first place.

“RHAAAAAG,” the demonic beast screams from somewhere behind them.

“Yes, but that’s not,” Byleth says.

Sheathing her sword, Byleth darts forward and snags Dimitri’s wrist on her way past him. He gives no resistance when she pulls him along, and Balan is right behind her with Edelgard’s wrist in one hand and Claude’s in the other.

“Is that what I think it is?” No one has the breath to answer Edelgard over the shrieks behind them.

Byleth leads them through the forest as Dimitri, with his wrist still in her grip, runs beside her while Balan has given up on keeping the other two close and is about to outpace her.

Perhaps she should be grateful that her former students aren’t making things difficult for them, but she’s too busy cursing Balan in her head to acknowledge such.

“ _It is not my fault! I told you it was an experimental device!_ ” Balan defends himself even as a branch attempts to take off his head.

“ _Your invention powered up the beast and made it invincible_ ,” Byleth shoots back with a silent growl.

There is nothing Balan can say to that.

She’s forced to stop running when the forest gives way to a river. On her right is a line of fallen trees and boulders that bar the way forward. The only path is a narrow trail to the left. Should someone follow it, they will come upon Jeralt’s mercenaries surprisingly quickly.

It is exactly how Byleth planned it.

“We’ll stall it here,” she says, letting go of Dimitri and facing the direction of the beast with her sword held high. “You three go that way until you find our camp. Let them know we need backup for a powerful demonic beast.”

Claude, already moving in the direction Byleth motioned to, stops upon noticing that he is alone. Turning around, he takes in the stubborn faces of Edelgard and Dimitri and heaves a sigh.

“Your Royal Highnesses,” Claude begins testily, “I know you both are of a noble and prideful lineage, but we’re out of our depth with whatever this is, so hurry up and choose life.”

Dimitri and Edelgard share a meaningful glance before getting into position next to Byleth and Balan. Though they don’t say anything, the way they ready their weapons speaks loud and clear. Neither of them so much as flinch as the snapping of trees grows nearer.

“No one will call you a coward if you leave now, Claude,” Dimitri calls over his shoulder.

“Not to your face anyway,” Edelgard says pleasantly.

Covering his eyes with a groan, Claude lets out a curse before taking position behind them. Though it’s comforting to have his bow at her back, Byleth reassesses her strategy in the face of no reinforcements and somewhat green soldiers.

“It seems these three will be all the backup we get,” Balan mutters before mirroring her stance. “Time is up. Lead us to victory, Byleth!”

The foliage parts for sharp claws and a snarling jaw. An orange crystal glows from where it is embedded in a bone-like skull. Eyes glazed with madness narrow in on the one responsible for the crystal—Balan.

“Balan, on me!” Byleth shouts. “Claude to the rear, Edelgard, Dimitri cover him while we keep it distracted. We’re going to drive it into the river!”

It is easier said than done, considering how big the beast is compared to the tiny bit of clearing they have. The demonic beast is also invincible as long as the crystal remains in place; they need to find a way to break it before pushing the beast into the river.

“I am not apologizing,” Balan grunts when she glares at him out of the corner of her eyes.

Honestly, Byleth should have known better; she should have taken precautions equivalent to the possible danger. This isn’t the first time something like this has happened. When Balan wakes up with the idea of a new spell ready to take shape, she usually lets herself be pulled along into his madness.

“I may have found a way to revert the demonic beast transformation!” Balan had said.

Usually, everything goes well, but there are times when whatever concoction Balan dreams up is a massive failure that threatens to end all of creation. This is one of those times.

“Byleth!” Dimitri yells when the beast grazes her arm.

Balan parries the next attack, giving her time to fall back, and Claude fires an arrow into the beast’s eye to help distract it. The demonic beast gives neither of them a thought as it goes after the one who’s blood permeates the air.

There is no time to cast a healing spell. She brings up her sword to defend herself. Edelgard steps in front of her as the claws descend, and she desperately reaches out to turn back the hands of time.

“ _No need_ ,” Balan tells her.

A spear goes sailing into the orange crystal atop the demonic beast’s head, shattering it. Stunned, the creature freezes in its tracks, and Dimitri wastes no time slamming himself into the beast shoulder first.

The demonic beast goes flying into the river. The creature gets swept downstream, and when they can no longer see it, Byleth takes out a vulnerary for her wound

“So that happened.” Claude wipes the sweat from his eyes and wonders, “Now what exactly was ‘that?’ ”

Edelgard narrows her eyes at Balan. Dimitri and Claude, upon noticing this, turn their gaze towards Balan as well. The silent accusation hangs in the air until Byleth nods and chimes in,

“It’s all Balan’s fault.”

“Lies!” He refutes immediately. “It is the fault of humanity!”

“I knew it. You’re up to no good like always,” Edelgard says as if she expected no less.

“And you appear to be as overbearing and conceited as always,” Balan shoots back.

“Overbearing? _Conceited_?” Edelgard glares.

“Oh no, here we go,” Dimitri groans.

“Am I the only one still wondering about the glowing, raging beast of death?” Claude asks.

Though the forest muffled it, the sounds of battle still carried to the mercenaries camp. Ready for war, Jeralt stumbles across a group of bickering children instead. He looks from their torn clothing to the damaged clearing before finally resting his gaze on three flashy academy capes.

Jeralt lowers his spear and lifts a flask to his lips.

“Whatever you did, just don’t repeat it at the monastery, Balan,” is all he says.

* * *

It is with a heaving sigh and another swig from his flask that Jeralt follows after the gleeful Alois, who has come for the wayward students. Byleth finds herself shoulder to shoulder with Dimitri and Claude while Edelgard and Balan argue behind them.

Looming ahead of them is Garreg Mach. Each step forward takes her closer to fate, but Byleth is too busy dodging Claude and Dimitri’s endless questions to concern herself with it.

When they separate from the students at the gate, they all make a promise to meet up later. In Edelgard's case, it comes out more of a threat.

“ _I’m home_ ,” Byleth thinks to Balan as Alois leads them deeper into the monastery.

Rhea watches them approach the cathedral from above, and Jeralt subconsciously moves to hide Balan and Byleth behind him. With an unreadable expression, Rhea disappears into the cathedral.

Seteth doesn’t bother greeting them. He continues to frown suspiciously even as Alois loudly announces the famous "Blade Breaker" Jeralt and his two children.

"Where's Rhea?" Jeralt asks sharply when nothing else happens.

"That's _Lady_ Rhea to you," Seteth replies just as sharply before sighing. “I do not know why the archbishop has decided to request your children's presence in the Holy Tomb, but I, for one, am not of the mind that they can be trusted with something so important,” Seteth grits out.

“Hey, now. That’s my kids you’re talking about there,” Jeralt says, tone deceptively mild.

"It is my job to mistrust any unknown figures that approach the archbishop," Seteth replies testily, "but I cannot speak over the archbishop's words."

If Seteth had fangs, he would no doubt be baring them right now. Instead, all he can do is furrow his brows and glare.

" _Loss has made him cling tighter to what he has_ ," Balan notes sadly.

Seteth takes them through the side of the cathedral and towards the tomb. Alois remains behind; his booming voice awkwardly reminding them of his continued presence.

"Only them," Seteth says at the tomb doors.

Jeralt eyes Seteth as if sizing him up for a fight, but whatever he sees keeps him from doing anything besides rolling his shoulder.

"Come get me if you need me," Jeralt tells them.

Balan grabs Byleth's hand, and they enter the Holy Tomb together. His eyes are steely even as his grip remains light.

Byleth wonders if Balan feels the same thing she does.

Every step they take puts Byleth's heart into unrest. Nothing good has ever happened in this tomb, yet the Sword of the Creator calls to her like always.

A familiar gold headdress glints in the dark in front of them. Rhea waits for them at the bottom of the steps to the throne. Her eyes flicker between their faces wordlessly.

Balan let's go of Byleth, and it is Sothis who opens her green eyes.

“SEIROS,” Sothis says, voice as heavy as a star.

Byleth remains steady against the sudden pressure on her heart but only just.

“Y-you, m-m,” Rhea, unable to speak, falls to the ground with wide eyes.

“ _SEIROS, MY DEATH IS NOT AN ANCHOR THAT FORCES HUMANITY TO REMAIN IN PLACE_.”

Black boots make no sound as Sothis moves over to the trembling Rhea. Raising a fist, Sothis brings it down fiercely only to gently bump the top of Rhea’s head. The force knocks the headdress slightly askew.

“Silly child,” Sothis sighs. “Your heart and your head are going in two different directions like always.”

“Mother!” Seiros suddenly cries, clutching onto Sothis’ pants like an abandoned child. “Oh, _mother_!”

Sothis rubs gloved fingers over the back of her hair as Seiros wails in relinquished grief. Byleth looks away. Sobs echo in the empty chamber, and Sothis’ deep voice can barely be heard over the weeping.

“In time’s flow...see the glow of flames ever burning bright...on the swift river’s drift, broken memories alight...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeralt is going to need a bigger flask once he finds out he is both Rhea's son-in-law and her grandfather.


End file.
